End of Eternity
by Raven Sinead
Summary: You have watched them struggle, suffer, triumph, fail, fall, perish, break apart, and *love* one another. But how did this love come to be? What storm drove them together, and melded two souls into the love that awakened a god? Watch the clouds darken, the thunder rumble, the lightning flash, and the storm converge. A tale of Salem and Leliana's beginnings. Salem/Leli alternate POV
1. Beginning of the End

**_Author's Note:_** _So, this fic…well, it all started as a request from the Mad Doctor Artist (who will probably be mad at me for posting already, but it's okay, 'cause it's not done yet). She asked for me to write a fic showing the first time that Salem and Leliana declared their feelings for one another. As per usual, I have a hard time writing a singular one-shot, so this will be snapshots of their romance and its beginnings. There have been many flashbacks to these times in my series, mostly from Leliana's point of view. That is why this little series will be entirely from Salem._

 _On another note, it is so_ _ **good**_ _to be back and writing. The 29_ _th_ _of June will be a day that I remember forever. I bore witness to a suicide, and lost someone who would have been a wonderful friend. It has been a difficult recovery process, but I am working through it. Augmenting that trauma was the events of last Friday, where a dear friend of mine had a gun pointed in their face while their store was robbed. And today I found out that I need a shoulder surgery. As you can imagine from this, it has been a very stressful last two weeks. However, writing this beginning is helping immensely. After this, I will immediately return to_ _ **"For the Wages of Suffering is Beauty"**_ _. I hope you all enjoy this tale from the past. There will be time skips throughout, as this is about the relationship between them, not the events of the mission. And, also, as per usual, I've written a story within a story, and kind of ignored canon a little bit. But, hopefully you'll all like to see Salem and Leliana's beginning days. If you do like it, thank the_ _ **Mad Doctor Artist**_ _, and give her work a look-see. It's quite good._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Salem Cousland**

In the cave, there was no light. No sound of the wind rushing past my ears and lifting my hair. No sweet scents of flowers and trees. No signs of life but the chattering of the darkspawn all around as they crowed victory. The victory I'd given them. I lay surrounded by their dead, at the end of my life. I knew what it was to die. I also knew what it was…

…to _live_.

I reached out into the cold, damp, dark of the floor and grasped the hilt of my fallen sword. I lifted it, staring at the hilt, flickering in the dim light of my flickering torch. I knew the image engraved into the metal like I knew the hopes and dreams of my own soul. The two were intertwined. In the red-orange glow, I could envision the wings of the nightingale moving, flying backwards, away from this moment where the heat of the sword radiated through my chest, where I could feel my blood slipping out onto the stone. The wings moved and my eyes fluttered closed, borne on a nightingale's wings, back into the past.

To the road that led me here.


	2. Three Little Words

**Ferelden Circle of Magi**

 **Salem**

I knew that something was wrong. Something was more than wrong. Not moments ago, I and my companions were fighting for our lives. An elder mage was with us, healing the small wounds we acquired along the way. The tower was rife with abominations, but I could not…I could not let potential innocent lives be taken by the Right of Annulment. Not if I could stand in its way and see to the truth of the situation.

The air was choked with smoke, the stench of sulfur and seared lyrium. I knew I remembered that detail. I also remembered a wide-open room with a mess of strange, fleshy, ropey vines streaming across the floor, leading to a monstrous entity. I remembered them all falling…Alistair, Morrigan, Wynne, and, last before me, Leliana…she whimpered my name as my fell. Not my title. Not my last name, but my first.

I did not remember my eyes closing, but I knew I was in the wrong place. The wrong time. Trapped by…by something. Perhaps the demon with the gravelly voice…I remembered it now. A massive, burgundy face that looked like inverted flesh. The features were odd, a caricature of human features, filled with gold and silver piercings. Its voice had sound like ground gravel…it entreated us to sleep.

 _Where I am now…it is not where I was…not where I_ _ **need**_ _to be. I_ _ **must**_ _get back there. But how?_

Before me lay a set of stairs, the spires of towers I did not recognize, and a man beyond whose face I knew all too well. The man who dragged me bodily away from Highever. The man who put a goblet of blood in my hand and bade me drink on pain of death. I walked up the stairs, looking around, seeing others standing there, complete strangers to me, dressed in the livery of the Grey Warden order.

 _Why am I here? Where is this place?_

"Duncan," I address him. "What has happened?"

"The fight is done." He replies, a wide smile decorating his features, out of place. "The Archdemon defeated, the Blight finished. You stand with me here, victorious at Weisshaupt. You are due your rest, young warden."

"Perhaps I am." I said, feeling an eerie peace spread over me. A peace that did not belong. My job was not yet done. My work not yet finished. In fact, there were leagues to go before I could lay down my head in rest. "But that rest will not come for quite some time. You see, Duncan, you perished. I saw your corpse on the grasses of Ostagar."

"That must have been a dream, Lady Cousland." He called me by my noble title, and it chafed against my skin like rough leather. "We are both here, hale and hearty, ready to begin the next tasks of the Warden Order."

I looked up to the roof, then around the room, ignoring the people around me, listening to their footsteps as they drew closer. I lift my hands to the sky, more preparing to draw my swords than in supplication.

"Did you think this was what I wanted!?" I shouted to the darkness that had pinned me here, in this phantom place, this plane within and perhaps out of reality. "Did you think this the deepest of my heart's desire!? You know _nothing_ of me!" I allowed the pain into my voice, the anger and the hatred and the grief in which my private heart indulged. "You know _nothing_ whatsoever, so reveal the truth of this illusion or slay me now!"

I ducked under the swipe of the blade from the man who was not Duncan and spun away from the dagger nearly plunged into my side. I pulled my swords from their sheathes on my back and began the dance with death yet again. I did not know what had constructed this dream, but its knowledge of combat was not enough to make the three I fought against a true threat. They fell to my blades and their bodies evaporated.

The spires of Weisshaupt crumbled and the earth did not shake. They simply whispered out of existence…as the world faded when waking from a dream. I felt as though I fell with them, but I retained my wholeness, my personhood, my wits about me. I landed on a different ground, a labyrinth of muted colors and strange smells that were not smells and a wind that smelled of dank swamp water…it might not even have been a wind. Perhaps it was simply an undulation of air so thick it clung to the skin like water. I struggled to pull in air.

"How are you here?" I heard a genteel voice and looked to see a young man standing before me, wearing mage's robes. "How did you escape the sloth demon's illusion?"

"So, you know where we are then?" I asked, gripping my swords, preparing to attack lest he be another instrument of the demon for my demise.

"We're in the Fade, somehow." He told me. "I came looking for the Litany of Andralla, to help fight against…"

* * *

 _I must find her._ I told myself, repeating the words as a mantra, to power me through the hellscape that was the fade. _I must find her. I must get her free from this place._

I limped through the building, across the stone floor, my own blood squelching beneath my feet as it dripped from my arms, my legs, all the places I had been struck and pierced and slashed. I had learned to alter my form, to shift through the puzzling realms of the Fade and fight the monsters and shades and spirits and demons. I had been lucky to find Alistair, Morrigan, and Wynne, to free them from their illusions…well…two of them. Morrigan had known that the image of Flemeth before her was not her mother; though she'd not known how to get free of the demon's trap.

The only one I that remained for me to find was Leliana. All of the others were found enduring emotional turmoil, the tragedies and pains and frustrations of their lives. I did not know what horrors Leliana had faced, but her eyes, no matter how much light shone from them, no matter the joy in her smile and the hope with which she greeted the morning, I could see a deep and fathomless sorrow in the lightning blue.

Whatever horrors the other experienced here, I knew that hers would be great and terrible. My own injuries would not deter me. I did not know if they would follow me into the waking world, but I did not care. They had cast their lost with me, to help me fight this Blight and kill this archdemon. I owed it to them to find them, to save them, to bleed for them and take what blows I could so that they could continue to stand strong. I owed that debt most especially to Leliana, who joined us with no compulsion, no need, no purpose other than her belief in her vision.

I paused and leaned against a pillar, catching my breath, clutching the knife in my thigh, keeping it from falling out. I hissed as it moved within my flesh, but managed to breathe through it. I could face this, no matter what. And, ahead of me, I saw her.

She lay on a raised table in the room ahead of me. I moved closer and saw an elderly woman, clothed in the robes of a Revered Mother, removing bandages from her body. I watched as she washed Leliana's wounds…grievous injuries that held a tale so great and terrible that I knew I wished to know. To know how the light entered her eyes again. I could see the soles of Leliana's feet; they had been caned and were bruised black and purple. She must have been tended to by the most competent of healers. I had seen such wounds before, as a child, when the prisoners of war released from their Orlesian captors returned, maimed for eternity from the caning of their feet, the breaking of the delicate bones, and the improper resetting of the same.

 _What did you endure that led you to this place?_ I wondered as I drew close enough to hear the faint outlines of words spoken between them. _For surely no Chantry sister could have found herself beneath_ _ **torture**_ _. But, I was not always a Grey Warden. She might not always have been so devout…especially given the fact that she can fight like no other I've ever seen._

I leaned on the wall as I limped closer, wondering how I could understand what they were saying, for I could hear the lyrical strains of the Orlesian language.

"Cry your tears, child." I heard the watery, gravelly voice of the Revered Mother. "They are healing you as quickly, if not moreso, than the herbs and spells."

"I cannot cry." Leliana's voice sounded weak, damaged, as I had never heard it. "I cannot cry for that makes this real. It makes all of it real. Please, I do not want it to be so."

"But it _is_ so, my child." The mother's voice sounded comforting, impossibly brave, and truly _good_. "Does not the pain of your body make it real? The blood on your bandages? Why do your tears give this more reality than all else that has been done to you?"

"Because tears are of _grief_ , not of pain." Leliana whispered and my heart cracked.

This was a moment from _her_ life, a terror of being able to feel…a terror I knew all too well. I did not weep for that which I had lost, for those tears, that _grief_ , made it all more real than it was if left unmourned. It left the pain sacredly at a distance, where it did not need to be touched or lifted, lest you break beneath it. I knew this pain of hers and I wondered if she, having known it herself, could witness it in me. I did not miss the looks that she gave me, the looks she spared for me alone. Something beyond and deeper than the flighty Chantry sister who could speak ad nauseum about fashion and wigs and _shoes_.

A part of me I thought slaughtered in Highever had returned beneath that rare look. The curiosity that drove me. The acknowledgement of emotion. The realization that I wanted to see beyond the light in her eyes…and her eyes alone. No others interested me. No others drew me in. No others made me question and…and _desire_.

"You can grieve for what you have lost, Leliana." The Revered Mother told her. "You can grieve it and acknowledge it and allow it to mend your body faster than it will if you allow it to fester within you."

"No, please, I don't…" Leliana began to hyperventilate and I saw panic rising in her eyes as the Revered Mother's hands moved to the wounds along her hipbone. "I can't…"

"You _must_." The Revered Mother's voice harshens, and I know I do not need to look further for the demon entrapping Leliana. "You _must_ return to those times. You _must_ endure that hardship again. You _must_ confront the memories. Even if it _kills_ you."

"No, you do not." My voice broke into the memory and the Revered Mother turned her eyes to mine. They were not human. I limped into the room.

"Leliana." Her eyes turned to mine; she did not recognize me, but I would break through. I _had_ to break through. "Leliana, you are free to keep your pain sacred. You never have to share it with another if you choose not to do so. You do not have to, I swear it. Not until you find someone who also knows, who also _cares_. You do not have to return to the source of your anguish alone. You do not…"

My words were arrested and I choked as the Revered Mother's hand slammed into my throat and pinned me against the wall. My arms fell to my side, limp as the strength of a demon lifted me until my feet were off of the floor.

"You do not respect her health or her healing!" The demon shrieked. "She belongs _here_ , with _me_ , in _this_ place!"

"No." I managed to rasp out, looking beyond the demon, to Leliana's eyes. They were blinking rapidly, as though she were awakening from a dream. "She belongs…with _me_."

"Die." The demon's hands wrapped tighter around my throat and I gagged for air, struggling, suffering.

I forced my arm to move, to reach for the hilt of the knife stuck in my thigh. I could not cry out when I ripped it from my skin. It took all of my focus to lift my hand and drive it into the demon's neck. Horrific, blackened blood spurted from the wound as I withdrew the knife and thrust it back in, again and again until the crushing grip left my throat and allowed me to breathe.

I slumped to the ground, the knife falling from my weakened hand. Leliana rolled off of the table and ran to me. Her eyes were clear again; she was no longer trapped here by the demon, no longer in the prison of her pain. Her hand reached out and touched my face, her other clamped down on my thigh, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.

 _She is the only one…_ I thought, looking into the worry and concern in her gaze, _…who ever touches me. She is not afraid to touch me…she seems to know how much…how much human connection is sorely missed. How much I need it, but cannot ask. Maker…her eyes are beautiful._

"Salem?" She spoke my name, harsh and anxious. "Salem, look at me. What is happening? Where was I?"

"We were…trapped." I managed to mumble. "By a sloth…demon. In the Circle…Tower."

"Maker's breath, your throat is already bruising." She murmured. "We have to bind your wounds and find a way to ease your breathing. Just…stay with me, Salem."

"We're…in the Fade." Speaking felt like swallowing glass; it hurt so badly. "I'll be…all right."

"This might be just a bad, bad dream, but that does not mean these injuries are illusions." Leliana took the knife and cut off a large swath of the dead demon's robes, using it to bind the worst of my wounds. "Do you think you can walk?"

I nodded, cursing under my breath as the inadvertent movement jarred the horrific bruising. Leliana helped me to my feet and I managed to stand beneath my own power. When I took my first step, I stumbled, and Leliana caught me, her arms grasping my own. I shuddered and stabilized myself, looking up and then falling again, this time into her eyes.

"Salem." She whispered, holy, hushed, and sacrosanct. "Salem, what you said to me…did you…what on…where…" Her grip on me faded as her body began to drift away as the others had. I did not know if she would remember this moment, if she would ever finish her question, if I would ever be able to answer.

However, the last of my companions had been freed. I was now free to find and fight the demon at the center of this maze. Bruises and bleeding be damned, I would be _free_ of this Fade realm. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years, to run from the pain ravaging my body, to flee the tainted blood in my veins. I could do none of those things. I would fight, and I would not lose. I would be free of this Fade prison, and fight the cause of this.

The mages did not deserve to be punished by death for the actions of a few. Those who feared magic were fools. Mages were no less mortal. They were burdened with a great gift. They were blessed with the power to change the elements, to heal the wounded. They were closer to temptation than the rest of us, and they were punished for it. I felt for them, but could do so little. I had the chance to spare lives, and I would accept the risks in order to do so. I would face the blood, the pain, and the demon.

I moved forward, towards the center of the maze. I would bring down the demon. I would bring down the mage who began this devilry. I would save the lives I could…to repay the loss of those I could not.

* * *

"No!" I heard a defiant scream as I came out from darkness. "She cannot be lost still! I will _not_ allow it." I felt a sharp, ringing slap across my cheek. "Salem! Salem, wake up!"

I peeled my eyes open to find myself looking into a worried, blue gaze. Leliana hovered over me, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed with the passion that defined her character. With my eyes open her hands moved, tracing over everywhere on my body that she had seen a wound. But there was no cloth wrapped around my leg; no bruise spreading across my throat. The wounds incurred in the Fade had been left there.

"Are you all right?" She asked, the tightness at the corners of her eyes, the thinness of her lips, bespoke her true caring. "Are you well? Can you stand?"

"Yes." I replied, finding my voice still hoarse. "And yes. And with help."

She extended her hand and once and aided me to my feet. I swayed a little and she supported me. I felt her strength as she took my weight until I balanced. I wondered how she regained her health and her strengths. The wounds I had seen on her body within the Fade were grievous. Her torture, whatever its source, had been severe. I wondered if she lived in a world away from it, if she still kept it behind the bars of her mind, or if she had ventured there, embraced that pain, and moved through it.

I accepted, in that moment, that I would probably never know the answers to my questions. I would never know the meaning of the blue fire in her eyes. I would never understand what _truly_ drove her to cast her lot in with the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I would never know her desires, or her wandering thoughts, or the pain she so obviously held sacred.

For now, that did not matter. There was still Uldred to handle. I now had the Litany of Andralla. We could fight him, no matter what matter of demon had taken him. The senior enchanter finished examining all of us, making certain that we were hale and whole. We were in body, but I did not know how the others would be, in mind. The sloth demon did not find enough of me to torment. He had presented me a world that held nothing but pain, and I had seen through the charade. The suffering of the others was more acute. He had time with them, to find their thoughts and their demons…he had time to find what would _torture_ them.

 _And entering one's worst pain with no protection and no forethought and no preparedness, as Leliana was being forced to do…is the worst manner of torture that there is._

"It appears that your wounds remained in the Fade." Wynne spoke, relief evident in her tone. "I am glad of this, for you were…you were quite battered, Warden."

"Do not be so relieved yet." I replied, setting my eyes towards the stairwell that would lead us to the top of the tower, to Uldred and his madness. "There are wounds yet to earn."

"What manner of response is that?" Wynne questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"I believe it to be our warden's sense of humor." Leliana noted and I turned to her, in shock that she realized this. "It is cheerless and dark as midnight, but once one is accustomed to it, it bears a certain charm."

* * *

The air still stank of fire and scorched lyrium. I watched as Wynne knelt down and healed the massive laceration across Alistair's muscled bicep. He did not flinch as the blue light invaded the wound, mending the tissue and muscle back together, preventing further loss of blood. I bit my lip. I did not want healing magic to touch me, but it would come…the grateful mages surrounded us, grieving their wounded, hugging their living, whispering to one another of the horror and atrocity they survived.

The templars watched over all of us like hawks. I and my compatriots were not free from suspicion. Word had circled that we were locked in the Fade, and it was only Knight Commander Gregoir who had kept us from being locked away. There were others busy tending the man we found imprisoned by the spirits. A templar named Cullen, who had endured unknowable trials and pain and torture in the time the tower was taken by Uldred. Uldred, the man eclipsed by a demon of Pride.

Wynne finished healing Alistair and she folded from her knees, crumpling onto her hands and catching her breath. The others were healed, and the senior enchanter was exhausted and drained of magic, as were all the mages here. The templars had weakened them purposefully, in self-protection. I did not like it, but I understood it. I would not, however, let the kind woman who had saved her apprentice and the mage children from the demons, exhaust herself on my behalf.

I reached out for a roll of bandaging, wincing as the three slashes across my outer thigh protested my movement. The demon's claws had raked across my skin. The wounds were deep enough to require stitching. Wynne got to her feet with the aid of Petra, her apprentice, and moved over to me. She knelt down and I saw the kindness and fatigue in her eyes.

"Not so gravely injured as you were in the Fade." She smiled. "But you have bled for us, nonetheless. It is a rare being that would aid mages, especially in this situation. The Knight Commander had every right to initiate the Right of Annulment under the laws that bind us to the Circle. Were it not for your presence here, Grey Warden, we would all have perished. It would be my honor to mend your wounds."

"Thank you, but no." I shook my head. "You have already exhausted yourself aiding us, and I will heal in time." _They cannot know,_ fear choked my thoughts. _They cannot know that healing magic renders me weak and powerless. That it causes me pain so great and terrible that I often fall into a faint._ "Please. Tend to your fellow mages."

"At least let me aid you in the natural way." Wynne insisted. "Allow me to stitch your wounds and bandage them. You should rest here for a while. It will give you time to speak with First Enchanter Irving about the warden contracts you carry."

"How did…"

"The young man told me." Wynne nodded in Alistair's direction. "It appears that the herbs he took to relieve his pain made his mouth very forthcoming."

"Something to remember in the future." I mused.

"Remain still, warden." Wynne cautioned me. "I must fetch my healer's kit."

The senior enchanter rose to her feet and swayed. Her eyelids fluttered and she slumped. I moved, trying to catch her, falling off of the low cot as my leg shrieked in disapproval. However, Wynne did not fall. Leliana caught her, held the elder woman as she began to regain her balance and consciousness.

"You must rest." Leliana told the kind mage. "Please, do not worry over Salem. I am skilled in the cleaning and stitching of wounds. I will care for her, but you have been caring for us all. Please. Rest a while."

"I am afraid I must…acquiesce." Wynne murmured. "My bag is…on the table…over there."

Leliana escorted the elder woman to a cot and helped her sit down. Wynne drew a thin blanket over herself and, in but a moment, I saw her chest rise and fall in the easy rhythm of sleep. Leliana fetched her bag and knelt beside me, hissing as she saw the damage done.

"Would that sleep would be so easy for all of us this night." I whispered, knowing that I would rest very little. Dreams were dangerous, and I could not afford them. Not after all I had witnessed.

"It appears Alistair and Morrigan have already followed the mage into slumber." Leliana commented. "But I do not think I shall rest as easily. There was much…much that I saw and endured that…" Her voice quavered, "…troubles me."

I could see the pure pain in her eyes. The light was gone, faded by the horrors of the day, by the death and chaos witnessed. Her hands trembled as she threaded the needle with fine silk. Her lashes were wet with hidden tears as she cleansed my wounds. Her touch was gentle as she pulled my skin together with needle and thread.

"I do hope this does not become a regular occurrence." She looked up and smiled, but there was no joy in it.

I, however, smiled back at her, a rarity…the expression felt so unfamiliar on my face, for my grief had damaged me, broken me in a way I did not think could be repaired, but her smile struck my own heart and inspired reciprocation. It inspired something beyond my brokenness to emerge and, while it hurt, I did not suffer.

"Your smile is truly lovely." She lifted a hand to her lips after she spoke, as though ashamed. "I am sorry." She whispered an apology as her cheeks flushed. "I have no right to say such things."

"It's all right." I tried to sound reassuring; struggled to keep my voice from flinching as she pulled the stitches tighter. "Within the Fade I saw…I saw things that I had no right to see. I feel I should apologize for intruding on such a moment."

Leliana shook her head. "You have seen things that I desire no one to see, Salem." She lifted her eyes to mine. "But what you said to me in the Fade is still ringing within my mind. I begin to think that…that perhaps _you_ might understand. There are…there are not many who understand the sacredness of great, deep pain. If they witness it or you shed your mask for one moment, they immediately believe that, because of a revelation, they have a place within your suffering. What you said to me…you do not believe that, do you?"

"No." I shook my head. "No, I do not believe that. And I will ask you nothing. I will demand no information."

Her brows creased and she stopped her work, looking up at me. "Why?"

"Because I have known you a mere month." I replied. "And because you chose to help us, and are the first to have done so. Look at us. Alistair and I are bound as Wardens. Morrigan's mother forced her to join us. Sten, who refused to join us in this place of magic, follows because he must, because he owes us for his freedom. Only you have come of your own volition, Leliana. I honor that. I honor you."

Her concentrated frown deepened. "You truly mean every word that comes from your mouth." She observed, a note of wonderment in her voice. "There is no deceit. You do not say these things to manipulate me into revealing the answers to your questions. You simply…are. I have never met another like you, Salem Cousland."

She continued her work, applying a poultice to keep down swelling and bandaging the wounds. She washed her hands and looked down at me. The light was back in her eyes, but it was a different sort of light. Not the blinding glare of the Chantry sister, nor the glimmer of the musician…it was mysterious and lovely, like the glow of the moon.

"Would you be averse if I…if I pulled my cot closer to yours this night?" She asked. "I feel…I feel safe near you."

"By all means." The words left my lips in a rasp.

 _It has been so long…so long since someone was willing to be_ _ **near**_ _me. No._ I bit down on my emotions. _This is nothing but her request for safety and security. Do not let your mind wander, lest your heart awaken…this is not the time for my heart to feel. However, what I feel, what I know, what I need…I do not believe I can fight it._

"Do you need anything?" She asked. "Food? Water? Wine? A sleeping draft, or something to curb the pain?"

"I need nothing." I promised. "Nothing but rest."

"That, you shall have. I shall make it so." The ferocity of her voice ended when she giggled, the most darling, lilting sound that I had ever heard. "For I want no movement from you. You should not put weight on that leg for a while. If you need assistance with anything, I am more than willing to aid you." She glared down at me, making certain that we were eye to eye, with nothing in between us. I began to drown in the blue. "No. Moving. Salem."

I could not resist it. I smiled once again, and words passed my lips that would cross them a hundred-thousand times, always with one meaning, even if I did not realize it at the time.

"As you say."


	3. Kindness Unparalleled

**_Author's Note:_** _So, I know that this story had a lot more chapters, and I had a direction planned for it originally, but it wasn't working with only one POV. The rest of the series had both Salem and Leliana's point of view, and it takes two to fall in love, so I've decided to include chapters from Leliana's POV as well. The original chapters will be reposted, with their counterpart, and will continue like that until the story is finished. I'd like to thank all of my readers for remaining patient with me. I'm dealing with a lot of real life stuff at the moment, and it seems like my muse has deserted me, so I'm trying to get her back. I miss writing and posting, and I want to get back to it with the regularity I once had. So, without further ado, I hope you continue to enjoy this story as its being retold._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

 ** _Trigger Warning:_** _Prelude to and mentions of sexual assault._

* * *

 **Ferelden Circle of Magi**

 **Leliana**

 _I flinch and tremor on the table. The pain of a thousand wounds strikes through my body, but I know there will be no relief. It is too soon for another potent dose of poppy syrup. I must simply grit my teeth and bear it, but I am growing more and more tired. It is impossible to continue like this. I thought the pain would have lessened under a fortnight of true care, but my body is so weak. I am mending so slowly, and even though my body is healing, my psyche and soul are still raw._

 _"_ _You_ _ **must**_ _." A familiar voice rings in my hearing, but the words are wrong. The words are not the ones that she would use. Dorothea is a kind, gentle woman. The woman who healed me, who saved me; she has never spoken so harshly to me ever. "You_ _ **must**_ _return to those times. You_ _ **must**_ _endure that hardship again. You_ _ **must**_ _confront the memories. Even if it_ _ **kills**_ _you."_

 _ **No, please!**_ _I beg inside my mind, even though I know this must not be real. I remember these words, from the Fade, from the nightmare of the Ferelden Circle. This is not that time. This is but a facsimile of a time that once existed, but I cannot give in. I must wake up. This is a dream, and I must defeat it._

 _I struggle to open my eyes, but they refuse to listen. The pain of my wounds intensifies and I whimper between gritted teeth. I feel as though I cannot endure this pain a moment longer, but I cannot wake, no matter my cognizance of the dream._

 _ **Please!**_ _I beg myself._ _ **It hurts!**_

 _"_ _Take me back to that time, Leliana." The Not-Dorothea creature speaks again. "Describe in detail what caused every wound to your body. Take the pain you are in and translate it with your words."_

 _ **No! I do not want to go back there! I cannot!**_

 _The room surrounding me flickers and fades; the hand resting over mine intensifies its grip and the nature of it changes. The fingers turn from dainty, tapered appendages to callused, meaty implements of torture. The knuckles sprout hair and jagged, dirty nails rake across my chest as he rips my arm away from where it covers my breasts._

 _"_ _Disgusting." The chevalier's voice is smooth and educated; he is a knight of Orlais, but I know what a brute he is, in spite of his cultured voice and education. "Putrid, filthy, and probably rife with disease." His fists lands on the infected wound on my right side where Marjolaine's blade pierced me and I shriek, struggling to curl into myself, in vain as more hands grab my arms and my legs, holding me still and open._

 _"_ _But I do not seem to care." He reaches up and his filthy hand caresses my face. "You've a pretty face, tits, and no will to resist. I'll take what I want and you'll like it, traitor." He spits on me and I flinch, knowing what is to come, knowing that I must relive it again, for I cannot seem to awaken. I know the exact words he will say next, the order he will give, the command to open my eyes and watch him as he violates me._

 _The heat of his body permeates mine and a choked cry peels from my lips against my will. The torture I can bear but this…this is breaking me in ways I did not know it was possible to be broken. It is not the first time this has happened since they brought me here…it will not be the last. I feel his breath against my cheek and my body goes wire tight beneath him as I wait for the command._

 _"_ _Leliana, wake up." He speaks and my eyes flare open in shock and surprise. "Leliana, you're having a nightmare. Wake up."_

 _It is my torturer's face, but the voice is different. The accent is rough, low, and not tinged with the noxious syntax often employed by high-born Orlesians. I know this voice, it is new in my life but it is already powerful therein. It is strong, and kind, and I need to listen. I must listen for the body of my torturer is still over me and I cannot endure…I cannot endure even the memory of this again…_

 _"_ _Leliana. Wake up."_

* * *

I jolted awake, a cry wrenched from between my lips as the pain of the dream followed me into the waking world. I shivered as I felt sweat trickle down my back. Every single scar on my body radiated with agony and I doubled over, groaning, struggling to control my own body, to remember that the wounds were healed and that time long done and gone. I would not let it rule me. I could not. I _must_ not.

"Leliana." I looked up into warm, kind, bright blue eyes. Salem's gaze held worry, and I reproached myself.

 _There is enough worry already present here._ My own thoughts chastised me. _I cannot add to it by allowing my own mind, thoughts, and memories to interfere with what we are doing. The fate of Thedas hangs in the balance, Leliana. Get control of yourself!_

"Leliana, are you well?" Salem asked. "You're trembling. Are you cold?"

Before I could respond, a blanket, already warm, settled across my quivering shoulders. I clutched it around me, wearing it like armor. The phantom pain began to fade, but the terror of the nightmare remained. I could still smell the chevalier's rank stench, taste his fetid breath in my mouth, remember the invasion…

The sob caught me unaware and I pulled further into myself, attempting to hide the tears. Salem was exhausted. She fought through the madness of the tower, then persevered through the Fade, taking innumerable injuries, weakening her body and mind. And after that, she fought the hulking Pride demon, once the mage Uldred, and kept him from slaughtering the remaining mages. She needed to rest, not hover over the idiotic tears of a woman trapped in a harmless dream.

"Go back to sleep, Salem." I kept my voice low, hoping that it would not tremble, but my words quavered out in spite of it. "You need to rest."

"As do you." She murmured and another sob tightened in my chest. I could hear true caring in her words, and it stirred something within me that bore its own manner of pain. "A night where none of our number need lose sleep and stand watch is rare indeed, and it is my responsibility to look after those who have joined me."

"There is no need to let yourself be burdened." I hissed. "You can surely shirk your _responsibility_ on such a rare evening."

"Perhaps I did not speak clearly." Even in the dim light, I could see a slight smile quirk her lips as she cupped my chin with her hand and turned my eyes to hers. "It is my responsibility, _and_ my privilege." Her eyes softened further as she saw the lines of tears on my face. With a gentle touch, her callused thumb rubbed them away. "Bad dream?" She asked.

I nodded. "A nightmare. It is nothing new." I attempted to make light of it, fearing that she would press and that, in my fatigue, I would break beneath her questions. She did not need to know. Salem needed my strength to stand alongside her own. I could not be weak.

"I am sorry your rest is so haunted." Her words startled me, as they were not a question but a…a commiseration. "For years, my dreams were untroubled. Now, it seems that nightmares are all that is left to me."

 _I know that pain all too well, of having your last fortress taken from you in both places, both waking and sleeping. It is a fate I would not even wish on my…no. That is not true. It is a fate I wish for_ _ **one**_ _…but she will never know the cold sting of justice. The truly evil, it seems, never do._

"Salem, I…" I began to speak, to try to find a kind manner in which to ask her to return to the matters of her own mind, and leave my troubles and terrors well enough alone.

"I meant what I said, Leliana." She interrupted, reaching up and pulling her blanket tighter around me, sealing in the warmth. It smelled like her, steel, sweat, and blood. It comforted me. "In the Fade. You are free to keep your pain sacred and, believe you me, I understand not only the desire, but the _need_ to do so."

My lips parted, but I could not seem to find words to speak. She anticipated my request and answered it…not with condemnation, not with an awkward silence, but with a pure understanding that…that baffled me. I remembered the kindness of her words in the Fade, how she stood against my tormentor and fought for my freedom from that dreadful place.

"However," Salem continued and I tensed, bracing for the demand, for the speech I knew would come, as it had from Marjolaine's lips, that in order for trust to be achieved, all secrets must be laid bare; that, when it came to a time such as this, when other's lives depended on me, I could hold nothing within myself. "I will not stand idly by while those near me so obviously suffer. Should this happen again, I will wake you from your dreaming. That, you may rely on. What you may also rely on is the knowledge that I will never demand an explanation."

 _This cannot be true. She cannot mean this._ I struggled to comprehend her words in the wake of the emotions coursing through me: peace, relief, an ache within my chest that had no name or explanation I could yet apply. _These words are not…they are not what I have come to expect from others. There are honesties and emotions within them that I believed lost to hatred, avarice, lust…all the sins of mankind. These words are like those of a great lover in an ancient tale…too wonderful to exist in the time we now inhabit. Too beautiful to be true._

"Your body tells me the tale." Salem spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are frightened and in pain. You are expecting to be hurt, or punished, and those are the furthest things from my mind. You are flesh and blood, Leliana, like the rest of us." She made certain that my eyes were on hers, so that I could witness the veracity of her statements. "I will never punish you for being human."

"Forgive me." I breathed, despising myself from having stolen her sleep, for having been so weak that she felt the need to reassure me.

In a former life, I would been chastised, brow-beaten, and forced to apologize with…with more than my words. Marjolaine would have demanded an act of submission. I had broken her rest before and found myself on my knees, singing her back to sleep in an intimate act I had no desire to engage in, even though it would awaken me and leave me panting with unfulfilled, unreciprocated desire. It took me far too long to learn that that, as well, was part of the punishment. Marjolaine was the sole proprietor of my pleasure; I was forbidden from taking it into my own hands.

"Have you heard nothing, Leliana?" Salem asked, but her words were gentle, almost tender. "You have done nothing that requires forgiveness."

"I…" I stammered, "…I disturbed you. You know that I am shielding something from your knowledge, and…"

"And I do not care." She shook her head. "You cast in your lot with the Grey Wardens of your own free will. I trust your blades and your bow to protect and help us in this fight. You have not compromised our mission in any manner. This is always your choice, Leliana. I do not presume to…to _own_ you because of your own choices, and if I have, in some way, conveyed that I do possess that belief, then…then it is I who owes _you_ an apology."

Her brow creased in worry and I saw a true sort of terror in her eyes that, somehow, she had done something to inspire in me that belief and that fear. But when I searched my memories, I knew that she had not. It was my own mind imposing that belief, that old fear. The strength I witnessed in her reminded me of the strength of the woman who once owned me, for most strength was the same in its perception…the sole difference was in how its possessors used it.

 _And, from what I have witnessed, Salem's use of her strength is as different from Marjolaine's as day from night._

"You have done no such thing." I murmured. "But you are injured, and accepted nothing for your pain. You must be hurting. Please, do not mind me. Go back to sleep."

"Only if you will follow me there." The entreaty was nothing but kindness and concern. Nothing salacious or improper lay in her tone, and that in itself provided a level of comfort to me that surpassed description.

"I shall." I removed her blanket from my shoulders and held it out to her, my eyes widening when she refused.

"You are still shivering." She limped back to her pallet and with slow, pained movements, eased herself into a prone position. "I do not want you to catch a chill."

She closed her eyes and I sighed, knowing that it would be pointless to argue. I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, firmly believing that I would find no more rest this night. However, the warmth of the second blanket and the comforting aroma of a warrior's scent infused my senses and lulled me back to peace, and back to rest.


	4. Thunder and Torment

**The Road to the Brecilian Forest**

 **Salem**

It was not the storm that snapped me awake, but Alistair's screaming. I did not even need to hear his words to know what he was shouting about. I could feel the crackling biting ripping tearing across the inside of my skull, the spike of heat radiating at the center of my bones, the nauseating twist of my insides that screamed of the presence of darkspawn.

I vaulted up from my bedroll and grabbed my swords, rushing out into the dark night. Freezing rain lashed my body; the wind tore across my face, and my instincts _screamed_. Lightning raked across the sky, illuminating the hulking bodies of our enemies. Several hurlocks and genlocks…and the creature towering above them both. A roar made the earth beneath my feet tremble, and it was not the crack of thunder.

"Ogre!" I cried warning.

Wynne emerged from her tent, her staff casting the campsite in a blue glow. Morrigan raced up, frost already coalescing around her weapon. Sten and Alistair joined me at my side and Burrow howled a war cry. None of us wore armor, nor did we have time to don it, and I begged the Maker for grace.

The darkspawn charged and I brought my swords up, catching the first hurlock's overhead strike between them. I slid them apart, forcing its sword upwards, then kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him to the ground. I stood on his chest and plunged my blade downwards, into its neck, severing its foul head from its body. The clash and clamor of battle rang around us. I danced through the horde, slicing at whatever part of my enemy presented itself, seeking out the ogre.

 _It could kill each and every one of us with a single blow. It_ _ **must**_ _be stopped._

Lightning struck nearby, splintering a tree and sending it toppling. It did not meet the ground. The ogre caught the trunk in its hands and I knew its intentions. I lifted a dagger from the body of a fallen genlock and hurled it at the ogre with all of my might. It struck true, piercing the ogre's hand and turning its attention solely to me.

Running, I broke away from the others, shouting a battle cry, distracting the massive beast from the rest of us. It lifted the tree above its head just as I made it past the outer ring of the camp, away from the tents, our supplies, and, important above all else, those who had thrown in their lot with the Grey Wardens.

With a mighty roar, it threw the tree at me. I did not pause. I did not even think. I ran towards the oncoming tree with all the speed I could muster. Gripping my swords tight to me, I fell to the ground and rolled beneath the tree. The leaves and branches sliced at my body, but gave way beneath my weight. I emerged on the other side and got to my feet. Another roar struck as thunder snapped across the sky, and the ogre charged.

I hefted one of my blades in my hand, drawing back and releasing it like a javelin. It pierced the ogre's chest but did not stop it. I clutched my remaining blade in my left hand and ran to the ogre, jumping to meet it. My right hand reached out, clutching the hilt of the blade impaling its body and driving it further into the skin. The ogre _screamed_ in rage and pain; its charge halted. I managed to snake my left hand up just as the ogre's meaty palm engulfed my torso.

The massive fingers squeezed and I groaned in pain, but did not scream. The others could not be distracted. All of the air rushed from my lungs as the ogre squeezed and opened its mouth. It's jagged, yellowed teeth gleamed like a death sentence and the foul stench of its breath poured across me. It lifted me towards its open maw, preparing to end my life with a bite and outpouring of blood. With all of my waning strength, I thrust upwards with my left hand, impaling the ogre through the roof of its mouth and upwards, into its brain.

The dark, malignant eyes went vacant and glazed, its muscles tensed in its death throes and I cried out as something within me _snapped_. The creature wavered and swayed and with what little I had left in me, I pushed against it, hoping it would be enough to make it fall backwards, instead of crushing me beneath its massive body. The beast fell onto its back and the impact jarred whatever within me was broken and I could not halt the cry of pain that ripped from my lips.

After what seemed an eternity, the ogre's hand slackened and I struggled to pull in air. As battle fever fled my body, I shivered in the freezing rain. Thunder shredded the sky once more, and lightning followed, brightening the sky. A moment later, a warm hand rested on my shoulder.

"Do not move yet, Salem." Wynne's voice cautioned. "There is no cause for alarm. The rest of the darkspawn have been felled. It is over."

I lay still, seeing Sten come forward in the light from Wynne' staff. He and Alistair pulled the ogre's fingers from around my body and, together, they lifted, throwing the arm off of me. I attempted to sit up, but Wynne's hand restrained me once more, and the blue glow of healing magic spooled around the palm of her hand. She rested it against my chest, seeking out what damage might have been done. After a moment, she shook her head.

"How you managed to fell that monster and retain naught but three cracked ribs and a few cuts is…providence." The blue glow whispered from her hands again, a piercing white light at the center of it. She reached out and I grasped her wrist, staying her hand.

 _They cannot know. Not tonight. Not after our safety has been threatened and our lives endangered. I will not cause more worry and I cannot…I cannot let them see. A cracked rib is a bearable pain and, so long as the bones are not completely broken, it will do no harm._

"Care for the others, first." I told her. "We need to get out of the rain, into dry clothes, and try to get what rest we can before the morrow."

She attempted to argue. I did not want to speak on the matter again, so I rose, pulled my swords free from the dead ogre, and began walking back to camp. I gritted my teeth, refusing to allow the jarring pain of every step to show on my face. Relief washed over me as I saw the camp still intact. Burrow sat up as I drew near, black ichor dripping from his jaws as he offered me a mabari smile. His stub of a tail wagged as he placed his paw on the chest of a massive hurlock.

I knelt down before him, reached out with both hands, and scratched him behind the ears. "Good boy." I praised him, offering my own smile as his grin widened. "Thank you for keeping us safe."

He leaned forward and offered his forehead. I rested my own against it, rubbing my hand up and down his back, grateful that he had survived.

 _I have lost everything but this one, beautiful companion. If he were to be taken from me, I do not…I do not even wish to entertain that potential loss._

"Are we all here?" I turned from Burrow and looked to the others…noting the one missing. One who had not joined the fight.

Thunder roared and Burrow howled at the sound, showing that he was ready to fight the monsters in the sky. I reached down and touched his head. He silenced. We had no way of knowing whether or not there were more darkspawn lurking in the forest until they drew near enough to sense. What they lacked in clear eyesight they made up for in their senses of smell and hearing. I did not want this to happen again.

"Where is Leliana?" I inquired, and even in the muted light of Wynne's staff, I saw Alistair go pale.

Though he had placed the burden of leadership on my shoulders, the man himself cared for all of those who had joined us, with the exception, perhaps, of Morrigan. In my absence, he did what he could to emulate me, to look after those whom he fought alongside. That this had happened, that she was alone…I did not want to think of it. There might have been a darkspawn unnoticed, an attack that happened during the time we fought the main force.

Before I could say or inquire of anything further, he rushed to Leliana's tent. An ear piercing _shriek_ rent the night and I ran towards the sound, biting back the pain that reminded me that I needed rest and care. I ignored it. There was no time for such things at this moment. Alistair emerged, falling backwards onto the sodden ground, looking up at me through the rain. There were four bloody furrows scratched in his cheek, and his eyes were wild.

"Alistair!" I knelt beside him, grabbing his shoulder and keeping his eyes fixed on mine. "Alistair, what is it?"

"I don't know!" He shouted, putting his hand to his cheek and looking at the blood. "She…she's alive but…but what she's saying doesn't make sense! I got close and she screamed and fucking clawed at me like an animal!"

 _Heavens, hells, and angels! Was a darkspawn attack not enough? Are we now shredding ourselves from within, too?_

"Did you see any blood?" Wynne questioned. "Did she appear injured?"

Alistair shook his head. "I couldn't see anything. It all happened so fast…it was dark."

I sighed and shook my head. There would be no rest this night. Not for me. However, I would not steal what little time we had for slumber and peace from the others.

"Go back to your tents." I ordered. "Dry yourselves off, get warm, and sleep. Sunrise is but a few candlemarks away. Burrow and I will keep watch."

Morrigan and Sten left without dissent. I glared Wynne and Alistair into submission, and the healer mage tended to the bloodied furrows on the man's face with a wave of her hand before they wandered back to their bedrolls. I returned to my tent and rummaged through my pack, pleased when I found the stack of beeswax candles I had purchased from the templar's quartermaster before we set out from the Circle.

I walked back out into the rain, stiffening against the chill, ignoring the burning ache in my chest. I stood at the doorway of Leliana's tent and whispered a plea for guidance. I did not know what had happened to her this night; why she had not aided us in battle, but I also knew with fierce certainty that there were many things about those who traveled with me that I did _not_ know. I had no right to question or to blame until all evidence was within my grasp.

"Leliana." I called her name, soft. "I am going to come in."

With those words, I entered her tent, knelt down, and struck my flint, lighting the candle. The soft, orange light pervaded the area and revealed the woman herself. She huddled in the corner, her spine curved into a position meant to make the body smaller. Her knees were pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. I could see bruised and bloodied crescents cut into the flesh of her forearms from the gripping of her hands. Her knuckles were white; her skin paler than bleached bone. Her hair hung in front of her face like a flaming shield…but it was obvious that, in this position, at sometime before, that shield had done nothing to protect her.

"Leliana?"

"They wait until the thunder rings." She murmured in a low, haunting sing-song. "So no one else can hear your screams. They wait until the thunder rings so no one else can hear your screams. They wait until the thunder rings…"

" _Leliana_." I raised my voice, but kept it gentle.

She lifted her head and her eyes struck a blow against me fiercer than the lightning strikes outside. There lay a terror in them so fierce and old that it _hurt_ to look upon. Untold pain screamed in her gaze and her lips trembled as she looked upon me.

"No." She breathed, a whisper of panic and anguish and terror. "No. Not a woman. Not _that_ cruelty! Please, Maker," I approached her, slow, as I might approach a wild animal. "No." Her voice squeaked out. "No. No no no _no no no_ _ **no no no no!**_ _"_

 _How many times has she seen this horror and had these nightmares, for that is surely what holds her captive now. But what is its source? Where does this abject pain and fear within her dwell, and what brought it here?_

"Leliana, it is Salem." I said, even, steady, slow, approaching her still. "Salem." I repeated my name, hoping that it would be foreign to whatever held her captive…foreign enough to draw her back here, into this waking world…back to _me_.

"Salem." I said again. "The Grey Warden. I am your…" _what am I to her? Will I ever know…why do I_ _ **hurt**_ _so when I look at her, and see her in this pain?_ "I am your friend."

"I do not know your face." She murmured and I hoped her words were a good sign. "Please, this one night. Please, spare me."

"All right." I attempted to enter whatever world she was locked in. "Not tonight. It will not happen tonight."

" _Liar!_ " She shrieked, pulling further away from me, against the corner, into herself, attempting to insulate her body from whatever harm she expected to be inflicted. " _Am I not torn enough!? Bruised and bloodied enough!? Have you not shredded and raped me_ _ **enough!?**_ _"_

I recoiled at her words, horrified at the way in which she spoke them, the dreadful _actuality_ and _adamancy_ of the truth within them. I knew with absolute certainty now that she was not here, that this storm, this thunder, had transported her backwards to a dark and wretched moment in her life. My chest ached, and not with the cracks in my bones. I felt run through by this, this torture, this terror…whatever she had donned Chantry robes to protect herself from. I did not know how I knew this, but I felt it with the same certainty that guided my steps and my choices.

Trusting that instinct, I reached out and rested my hand on her arm, skin to skin. She flinched and shouted, lashed out at me, raking her fingernails down my arm, gouging my hand, grasping my wrist and attempting to throw me off of her. I did not clutch at her, but I did not let her remove my hand. After a long moment, her breathing settled, her hands stilled. Still, the ghosts were in her eyes, powerful, clutching at her, causing tremors so splinter through her body. She shook beneath my touch, micro fissures of something ripping her apart from spirit and soul outward.

"Leliana, I am not going to hurt you." I promised her, meaning it from this moment forward, on into forever. "I am not going to hurt you."

Her eyes seemed to lose their glaze, and I felt as if she were actually seeing _me_. However, her very real fear lay close at the surface, a gaping maw, ready to swallow her alive again at the next rumble of thunder and spit-crack of lightning.

"Do you remember, Leliana?" I asked her, my voice low, but enough to be heard over the thunder. "Do you remember what you told me? That you believe me? That every word you hear from me rings with truth?"

Slow, like a sunrise, awareness dawned in her gaze and she nodded, minute movements of her head that spoke volumes.

"I am not going to hurt you." I promised her again. "Can I come closer?"

Another slight nod. I reached out and grabbed the blanket that was crumpled and wrinkled with nightmares. Gentle, I draped it about her shoulders and tucked it in around her shivering form. Her eyes followed my every move, and my heart cracked around the edges at the haunted, hollow look in them. For a moment, they flitted away from me, to the candle on the ground, filling the tent with its weak light as the rain lashed and the thunder growled.

"You brought light." She whispered, her voice haggard and raw, as if from crying out. "There was never light."

"There is now." I attempted to soothe her, shifting so that she could see the candle better, and be comforted by it.

I sat beside her, as close as I dared, listening to the thrashing rain and the ongoing storm. I shivered beneath my drenched clothing and bit down once more on the ache of my chest and the bruises and cuts of the battle. I watched Leliana as she watched the candle; witnessed the tension in her body flow out, increment by increment, until her eyelids began to flutter shut.

"You should rest." I whispered after a while, but she did not hear me.

She had fallen asleep in her uncomfortable position. With great care, I helped her to lie down, draping the blanket across her body, pillowing her head on my lap. I stroked her hair back from her face and made certain that, if she woke, the first thing she saw would be the candle and the light it bore, so comforting to her. I did not know the reason. I might never learn the reason.

 _All I know is that she was afraid, and tormented in ways I cannot begin to fathom. All I know is that I will sit here, freezing and in pain, and guard her sleep. The aching heart deserves relief. The tortured soul deserves to rest. I will honor that above all else and, come morning, should she wish to speak, I will listen. I will listen and do what I can…to mend the hurt of one so beautiful herself…who was made to fear the loveliness of the storms._


	5. Blatant Mistrust

**The Road to the Brecilian Forest**

 **Leliana**

The surface beneath me was soft, solid, and warm. I knew I could not trust it, not completely, but in this moment I wanted to do nothing more. The strength of Salem's body protecting me, watching over me…the sensation was new and distinct. Outside, the storm still crashed, lightning streaked through the air and thunder roared its response. I jerked at the sound, struggling to keep my eyes open, so that I would not go back to the rainy season of Val Royeaux, back to that terrible fortnight spent in hell.

 _They wait until the thunder rings, so no one else can hear your screams…_ I remembered the first night I heard those words.

 _They tossed me into my cell. I landed on my injured side and cried out. I remember screaming Marjolaine's name…I still believed…I still believed in her then. That she knew this would happen, that the wound she dealt me was a ruse so that she could remain free. I believed she was coming for me; that she would rescue me…because I loved her. And, like a fool, I trusted that she returned my affections. That she loved me as well._

 _Then, thunder split the sky like a banshee. Rain began to pour down, running down the fetid walls. I looked at the others in their cells, watching as they began licking at the water that dripped from the windows. I had no way of knowing that, not a few days later, I would be doing the same…desperate for even a drop of water. Soon, the voices of the prisoners overwhelmed the sound of the thunder, chanting those words, over and over and over. The chevaliers entered the dungeon and…and…and…_

A shudder ran through me. The torture began that night and I realized the truth of the chant. The thunder kept anyone from hearing. The truly depraved chevaliers let fly their true colors when storms shook the earth. My screams drowned beneath the thunder as they beat, savaged, and tortured me. No one heard. No one came running to my aid, and no one fought back. Not even me, after that first night.

Resistance was futile. Until the night when a woman I did not even know took a risk and delivered a weapon to me. I fought my way free and found myself at the Chantry, begging for sanctuary. My body, by some twisted grace, made an almost complete recovery. My soul and psyche, however, did not scar. Nights like this one, with the pounding rain and raucous thunder, proved that with shameful clarity. Perhaps my mind would never recover from the fortnight that decimated me, body and spirit.

 _And yet,_ my thoughts challenged me, _there is another body closer to mine than I have allowed anyone since that time. I do not like being touched. My body is broken in the sight of others, and I have nothing to give. Perhaps this is why I feel guilt for the comfort I now take from the warden. I do not deserve it, and could not reciprocate it, even if I tried…even if I desired to._

The dark overwhelmed me, pressing in from all corners. I kept my body as relaxed as I could, wanting Salem to think I had fallen asleep so that she might rest, as well. However, I had to open my eyes; I _needed_ to know that I was not in the darkness of Val Royeaux, that the rain and the thunder did not mean more pain and suffering and horrific acts of torture. My eyes fell on the single candle in the tent and my vision clung to it like a beacon of hope.

I was not in the dark. I was not alone here. I could feel the rhythm of Salem's breathing, and it calmed me. I could sense her strength surrounding me and permeating me and even though I wanted to believe that I could trust it, I did not. I built a wall around it. I would not be taken in by someone strong again. I could not allow my heart to be deceived. I joined the warden's cause because it was what I needed to do. I needed to believe in the rose that sprung up from death.

 _Inasmuch as the Chantry was safe, I did not feel safe there, locked in one place. Only on the move am I truly secure, and to see something so beautiful and pure come from the death surrounding it…I believe it to be a sign. A true vision, given to me by the Maker, a sign that, perhaps from the death I have endured, a life might come of it. However, Dorothea would tell me to be cautious. The wounded and ill of body and mind often seek for signs where there are none. A child might have plucked that flower from a living bush and placed it upon the dead one. I did not touch the blossom, after all. I did not want to taint the image…I did not want to doubt the sight of it._

I closed my eyes, shutting out the light. These thoughts were too dangerous for this night, with this woman standing guard over me. I did not want to doubt the sight of that rose, but I could not…I could not rise above my doubt in others. I had seen many people who possessed strength, be it strength of body, strength of position, or strength of wealth. Without fail, I witnessed each and every one of them use it against their fellow man in order to acquire more power.

I did not know why Salem Cousland chose to spend this night with me, why she brought in a light to allay my fear of the darkness, or why she remained after making certain my body was not harmed in the attack. I did know that I could not trust the strength that surrounded and suffused me. Just because I had not seen her misuse it did not mean that she was incapable of doing so. Perhaps she did not even realize her strengths yet, and I would make no move to illuminate them.

 _Without doubt, without fail, once someone realizes the power that they wield…they begin to become comfortable with using it. And, all too soon, the consistency of its use leads to the abuse of that power. There is so much corruption already present in this world. A power mad Grey Warden need not be added to it._

The thunder growled again and I shivered. A warm hand rested on my head and I flinched, digging my nails into the dirt, praying silently that this would not end as so many of these touches had. I did not want to be taken advantage of, perused in my sleep by a wandering hand I did not welcome, but I…I had failed them, this night. I had not fought our enemies. I owed them something, and if the payment of my body were demanded, I would endure it.

The hand rested on my hair, stroking through it in soft, tender motions. Tears pricked at my eyes as I curled into myself and waited for it to move lower still, beneath the blankets and my clothing. It did not stray, however. The soothing motion of a warrior's hand through my hair continued until, at last, my body tired of its fight, its dread, and succumbed to slumber.


	6. The Question of What

**After the Storm**

 **Salem**

I could not see, but rather feel, the breaking of dawn. The tension in my taut shoulders, rigid back, and coiled legs washed out of me. The horrors of night were always easier to bear, come the morning. I knew this in a way that I knew nothing else, and I allowed it, for the brief moment of solitude I knew I possessed, to comfort me. Beyond that moment, there could be no comfort. With comfort came complacency, and we were surrounded ever by danger. Were I to know such comfort with any constancy, I would lose those near me, and I could not risk that possibility. I would not risk the lives of those who followed me, trusted me, listened to me.

 _Never, even when you find yourself alone, trust yourself implicitly,_ Bryce Cousland's words rang in my thoughts. _We are made to be with one another, part and parcel, intricate parts of a complete being. No one man or woman can possess the entirety of wisdom. And those who cast their lot with you_ _ **must**_ _be listened to, pup. Even if their wisdom is not the proper wisdom for the moment, the remembrance of it later might save your life._

Though I might be cold, though I might hold myself away and cling to the privacy of a grief that should not burden them, I had never silenced their voices. The choices I made were mine, and lives had been saved…I did not think this would always be what transpired. I knew with certainty that the future held mistakes tied with my name, but I would do all that I could to make those moments few in number. Even if it meant foregoing sleep so that another might rest and be comforted from their nightmares. Even if it meant being chilled to the bone, in pain, cracking beneath the strain of bruises and wounds left untended.

That was _my_ burden. Not simply to guide us down the paths we needed to tread, but to be shield and sword both against the enemies that besieged us. For to lead was to serve, and in this place, with little but the clothes on our backs, our armor, and our weapons, I had nothing to offer these brave few but my presence and my body as a barrier against the evil they chose to face alongside me.

The moment broke as Leliana stirred. Her head shifted against my lap, then her arms pushed at the ground, launching herself away from me, staring at me with blue incredulity. Her lips trembled as she attempted to form words, she shook her head back and forth, her hair swaying like a curtain of flames. The motion stopped as she lifted a hand to her forehead and groaned.

"Maker's breath." She muttered. "I feel as though I've bathed in a vat of Rivaini grog. What is…" She looked up, piercing me with a rapid-clearing gaze. "What are you doing in my tent?"

"Do you not remember?" I asked, wondering if she truly had been vacant from her conscious mind, locked away in another time, another place, without any recollection of what transpired the night before.

"I remember…" Her voice trailed off and she looked into the distance, to the nub of the candle which had burned throughout the night. "…I remember the thunder." She spoke after a pause.

"Nothing more?"

"There are thoughts…like shards of glass…bright and clean and…I…Salem, please, tell me what happened?" She shook her head again, as if attempting to jar loose memory, and her eyes were bright with something akin to panic. "Please."

"Amid the storm, a group of darkspawn found our camp." I told her, and immediately her hands went to her head, tracing through her hair, attempting to find a wound of some sort, something that would give her peace in the vacancy of recollection.

"You were not hurt." I kept my voice low as I had last night, knowing that, now, on the tremulous cusp of awareness, more damage might be done to her by me than by the demons and darkness that swallowed her yesternight. "You did not fight."

"What?" Her eyes snapped to mine, a shock and horror in them so profound that I knew her vision, however tenuous its truth, guided her to us. That she truly wanted nothing more than to join us in this great fight in which we were sorely outmatched. "What happened?"

"The darkspawn were felled." I continued. "It was only after the fight that we noticed you were missing. Alistair was so worried you had been attacked while we were distracted that he rushed into your tent. You screamed and clawed at his face…"

"No…" The horror in her eyes was replete, consuming, terrorizing her within the confines of her own thoughts and consciousness.

"I told them all to go, to rest." I continued, knowing that one did not cleanse a deep wound bit by bit, but introduced the pain all at once, so to have it done with. "I came into your tent. You seemed to be awake, but you were not in this world. You were repeating a rhyme about thunder. You were so afraid when you saw that I was a woman. I touched you and…" I held out my hand, letting her see the scratches and scabs, the bruises where she had gripped me and attempted to throw me off of her.

Her brows lifted, creased, and her hand flew to her parted lips. Blood drained from her face, leaving her as pale as she had been last night. Tears filled her eyes and began to spill over, washing down her cheeks in rivulets of salt and regret.

"When you saw the candle, you calmed." I breathed, hurting myself at the sight of her pain, wanting nothing more than to reach out, beginning to draw correlations in my own mine.

 _The grievous wounds on her body that I saw in the Fade vision. The caned soles of her feet. The bruises and the pain and the refusal to cry. Is it possible that her terror of the storms ties in somehow with that moment in her life? She said that she had been torn and beaten enough, shredded and…and_ _ **raped**_ _…enough._

"I remember the light." She murmured behind her hand, lifting it to wipe away her tears. "I remember it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen…and a kind voice…a kind voice for once…promising not to hurt me." Her eyes, downcast and hidden by her lashes, rose to mine. "Was that you?" She asked, pleading for it to be a truth, a reality, not something conjured by her imagination.

"It was." I answered, seeing a measure of peace enter her gaze. "You fell asleep shortly after and I remained here to guard and keep watch for the camp, should the darkspawn come again."

"I did not dream." She mused, looking at me with awe beginning to spread across her features. "I remember…I slept and did not dream. That has not happened in…in…" Her voice cracked. "Never mind." She abandoned my gaze and lowered her face once more towards the ground. "It is not important."

"Leliana," I spoke her name, wondering why the syllables of it tasted sweet on my lips, "it is important to me. All of you who have come this far and fought this hard alongside us…your thoughts and wishes, dreams, hopes, and nightmares are important to me."

"The language of altruism falls on deaf ears, Salem." Leliana warned me, her voice hardening. "There is no one person in all the realms of Thedas who can truly _care_ for another. It is simply not how we are made."

 _People will tell you that kindness kills, Salem._ I remembered a lesson of my mother's, given after I disrespected a member of the staff…I could not remember who it had been, but my mother's lesson after my discipline…that, I _did_ recall. _They will tell you that mankind is permanently set against another, and that to be kind simply makes you easier to tread upon for another to rise to power, wealth, or whatever their greed pushes them to seek. They will tell you that power and wealth give you a place above all the rest, that you have the_ _ **right**_ _, due to rank and station, to tread upon others. Let_ _ **me**_ _tell you this. It was a kind man offered the crown first, because of the love of his people. It was a kind woman who emerged wealthy at the end of the war, because of the respect of those she dealt with. Kindness and caring are their own brand of power, Salem. Earning the fear of others will grant you power for a lifetime. Caring for others will give you power for an eternity, for kindness remains in the mind and breaks the bonds and belief in cruelty. Tales of kindness become legends passed down from generation to generation, while stories of fear are whispered and then forgotten. Be kind always, my child. Care always, dear daughter, and this world will not bow before you, but you will walk through it, standing tall, remembered, cherished, and blessed._

I reached out and tucked my finger under Leliana's chin, lifting her eyes to mine. I did not speak until I was certain that she was present, in this moment, with me.

" _You_ ," I spoke with all of my sincerity, "are important to me, Leliana. I expect nothing from you. I will not demand that you tell me what horrors trapped you within the storm. I will not invade where I have no right to tread. I will simply be here, ready and willing to hear, should you ever wish to speak. I will be here, guarding your sleep, lighting your candle, and aiding you in battling your demons as best I am able. You owe me nothing. No words. No tales. No past."

She wept more tears as she looked at me and her hand reached out, tracing the scratches and gouges on my forearm. She lifted the hand beneath her chin and held it to her cheek. I stiffened at the contact, so intimate without preamble…I shivered. Her skin was soft beneath my touch, silken and glorious and…and _lovely_.

"Why can I sense no lie in you?" She murmured. "I, above all, can sense when dishonesty lurks behind words of sincerity, and nothing is there…not in your eyes, in your words, in your voice, in your…your actions and _touch_."

She took my hand from her cheek and cradled it, palm up, in both of her hands. She traced the lines of the skin, brushing lightly over the calluses there. I shivered again and flinched, wincing as my ribs protested the sudden movements.

"This is not a noble's hand." Leliana breathed as she whispered over my skin with a delicate touch. "There are no blisters from the wielding of a sword. These are not merely swordsmen's calluses, either. These," She brushed each in turn, "belong to a harvester, a fisherman, a blacksmith, and a huntsman."

"Perhaps it is not a noble's hand." I agreed, a slight grin quirking my lips before fading away. "But it is my hand, attached to my words, and my promises. Leliana," I drew her gaze to mine again, "there will be more storms along this road. When they strike, come to me. Please. You need tell me nothing, but I will offer what comfort and distraction I can. I do not wish…I do not wish for you to suffer or to languish in the dark. Not when I am near."

"You are so kind." Leliana murmured. "But you must be so tired."

"It is nothing I cannot bear." I told her. "However, if all is well, I do believe I smell something that resembles food, and I am famished."

"Maker help us all." Leliana looked up and sighed as we both knew the desultory state of everyone's culinary abilities.

She moved aside so that I would have room to exit. As soon as I moved, the pain struck, all the bruises and the stiffness joined together and _screamed_ at me. I paused, breathing in short inhales until I mastered the pain. Leliana flew to my side, her hand placed deftly on my shoulder.

"Salem, what is it?" She asked. "Are you all right?"

"Just…some bruising." I managed. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Leliana, however, would not be dissuaded. She lifted my shirt and I heard the gasp. I glanced down, seeing my body bruised indigo and black where the ogre had grasped me. There were tears in my shirt and small lacerations from the tree branches.

"What…what happened?" Leliana asked, horror in her voice.

"The ogre of last night found me worthy of an intimate embrace." My dark humor spoke before I could stop it, and Leliana raised a single, incredulous eyebrow.

"You should have let Wynne see to you." Leliana eased my shirt back down over my battered body and I shrugged.

I looked into her eyes, the fathomless blue of the sea and the sky joined together and spreading out into endlessness and beauty. I remembered the texture of her skin against mine in that willing touch and a part of me I thought slaughtered with an image of terror and death resurged with a kick in the parts of me I wanted numb.

"There were more important things to see to." I murmured, wanting to reach out, to touch her again, to feel her skin…but it was not invited, so I refrained.

I moved, stiff, to the doorway of the tent, parting the flap before being halted by a question.

"What…what _are_ you?" Leliana asked me, a question that would ring in my mind for years to come, that would help me define myself and all that I did, every action I took.

"Human." The words came to me, and I hoped they would be enough. "And flawed…but trying."


	7. The Meaning of Worthlessness

**After the Storm**

 **Leliana**

Salem's words echoed in my ears after she left the tent. I felt like a foreigner inside my own body. My skin seemed too tight over my bones and my heart fluttered in my chest like a new, unbroken thing. I knew how to seek the lies, even from the greatest of deceivers. I knew how to find the quaver in a tone, how the movement of one's eyes during speech could bespeak an untruth. There were none of those things in Salem's words. Her eyes never left mine, her voice did not waver or shake. She spoke the truth as she knew it and it terrified me. It terrified me that I wanted to believe.

 _To what end, Leliana?_ I questioned myself. _You have believed before and look at what that earned you? You returned to Ferelden a broken woman in hiding, accused of crimes you did not commit in full, but certainly aided in. You are a traitor and a liar and everyone else in this world is the same. We all deceive for our own benefit. We all lie for our own purposes. No one is free of that curse, it is humanity's inheritance and we all drink of that well. Even so…_ I stared down at my hands, remembering taking Salem's hand and pressing it to my own cheek…

 _…_ _I allowed her to touch me. I_ _ **invited**_ _her to touch me. Why did I do that?_

I strayed from my thoughts with an immediacy that staggered me. I did not want to ponder the answer to that question. I did not even wish to think on the question. I had touched Salem several times…there was something about her, something within her that spoke to me, that whispered of her need for human connection. If it were my hands that reached out, I possessed control. I governed the situation, the placement, and the emotions that I felt. Touch was necessary for survival, especially in the Lothering Chantry, feeding the poor and caring for the sick. I found that I could bear it if I were the one controlling the encounter.

But, in the two years since Val Royeaux, I invited no one to touch me. The sole hands I allowed to wander were those of a healer, and even that touch made sweat break out on my forehead, my jaw clench, and my heart race. My actions a few moments ago did not make sense to me. I had placed her hand on my cheek and basked in the warmth and strength of it. Her hand was not the perfumed, soft skin of the nobles of Orlais.

 _Marjolaine's hands were soft,_ I remembered my lover, my betrayer, touching me. The silken glide of her fingers across my skin, the smell of the gardenia and clove perfume that she favored. The memory of the scent caught in my throat and I gagged at the memory of it as my body shuddered. _Marjolaine's hands were the last lover's touch I shall ever know._

My body was dead to pleasure. No matter the beauty or handsomeness of those I saw, no fire kindled within me. My blood did not pound, my heart did not throb. I was now a foreigner to the ache of lust, far and away from the woman who ached and begged for touch and pleasure and release. Far and away from the bard who leapt at the chance to bed another, who thrived from the desire that burned in the gazes of those who wanted me.

 _Once, I was beautiful._ I poured water into a basin to wash my face and stared at the reflection on the surface. In spite of all that had been done to me, the greatest torture was that they left my face unmarked. _They did so purposefully,_ I reminded myself, _so that any who would look upon me might know lust…then find only horror once my clothes are removed. My beauty has been stolen from me and it…it is all that I had. Even if I still loved her, Marjolaine would_ _ **despise**_ _what lies beneath my clothing. It is a good thing that I wish never to be touched again, for who could look upon this wreckage with anything other than pity and disdain?_

I shattered my reflection, splashing the water over my face and washing away the fear-sweat from the night before. I wondered what Salem heard in the moments where I was not within my mind. I wondered if I told her anything that might cause her to question.

 _And she will question. Eventually, her words will prove false and she will demand to know my secrets. I must raise my guard. No more touches, no more conversations, no more…no more of whatever it is that we are doing that looks so much like trust._

My mind spoke the words, but my heart hammered in my chest like a war drum, reminding me of things from yesternight that I had no wish to recall. I closed my eyes and saw the grotesque bruise splashed across Salem's torso. She had sat awake with me all night in case the nightmares and monsters of the past returned…sitting with that bruise. It must have been so painful, but she endured it. Why? Why would she do such a thing if she did not wish for something in return? It did not make sense…yet. Eventually, it would. Eventually, her gifts to me would arise in conversation and she would ask for something in return. That never failed.

* * *

 _"_ _How are you feeling, pretty thing?" Marjolaine enters the room, her green eyes filled with concern as she looks down at me. "You have been resting, I hope?"_

 _"_ _Of course." I push myself up, wincing as the back of my leg screams as it shifts on the bed. "I am sorry to be such an inconvenience to you. The bowman was well concealed in the gardens…I should have seen him."_

 _"_ _Well, I do believe your lesson has been learned." She tousles my hair and the scent of her perfume washes over me, causing my heart to race. "Having a crossbow bolt dug from your leg is something I think you should not like to experience again, no?"_

 _"_ _No." I hang my head in shame._

 _I did not honor her teachings with last night's debacle. So focused was I on escaping unseen that I had not fully examined my surroundings, and, had I done better reconnaissance, I would have known of the guards in the garden. She is right to have that edge in her voice, that condemnation in her eyes. I will be useless for at least a weak, and the physician has mandated absolute bed rest for the next three days. My lover is already impatient with the slowness of my recovery, with how late I have slept. She does not say it, but she does not need to._

 _"_ _Then consider that matter settled." She smiles at me and I glow at the expression on her features. Her smile is not kind, not calming, but she is beautiful and her smile is beautiful and her green eyes glimmer. "On to the next, have you forgotten that we received an invitation to Comte Vonçais' ball tonight?"_

 _ **Of course not, but surely she does not…**_

 _"_ _I have just come from the shops." Marjolaine continues. "Both of our gowns are ready, and I simply cannot wait to see you in the green silk. You shall be simply divine on the dance floor."_

 _"_ _Marjolaine," I look at her, beseeching, "surely you cannot still expect me to go. I cannot put enough weight on my leg to walk, dancing would be…"_ _ **torture, pure torture,**_ _"…impossible."_

 _Marjolaine's eyes harden, turning to green steel, making her look like a dragon…or a snake. "You have obligations, Leliana, and I cannot carry through with this plan without you. It is imperative that you distract the comte. He is a highly astute man, and will notice any change in his guard rotation unless suitably occupied. You are perfect, as his tastes run to women with flaming hair."_

 _"_ _And what happens when my leg gives out?" I ask, wishing that there was more than fear in my voice, but I can find nothing other than that. "Or if the wound breaks open and begins to bleed and I leave a trail of blood across the dance floor?"_

 _Marjolaine rolls her eyes. "That is not my concern. Fulfillment of this contract is. I am not the one who shot you, pretty thing. I have forgiven you for that mistake, but if you allow that mistake to jeopardize our work, I will be much less forgiving. Do we have an understanding?"_

 _I hang my head in shame, wanting to fight her, knowing that I am not ready, not well, and that something might go terribly wrong. However, the thought of her angry with me is a greater anguish to bear than the pain of my wound. I cannot fail her again. She will take care of me after tonight's work is done. I know that she will, this time. She promised last night when the physician pulled the bolt out and I was screaming and writhing in pain. She will keep her word. I love her, and she loves me. She simply struggles to show it._

 _"_ _We do. I will be ready." I smile up at her, at the green eyes that carry my entire world and worth. "May I rest until we must prepare?"_

 _"_ _Of course, mon chéri." She places a soft kiss on my cheek._

 _I think nothing of my request until later, when I hear soft moans and light laughter through the closed door to her room. Pain spikes through my heart as I listen to the unmistakable symphony of lovemaking. Marjolaine is a woman of desire, and her excitement rises before tasks such as the one we must complete tonight. I delight in tending to her needs, but I asked to rest, and now she has taken another to her bed to sate her…_

 _ **Quiet your thoughts, Leliana.**_ _I chastise myself even as tears slip down my cheeks._ _ **She is simply showing that she cares for you. It is not as though you are in any condition to enjoy bed sport, and Marjolaine has needs. She is not sundering our love by asking another to fulfill them. It is simply her way of caring for us both.**_

* * *

I shook my head clear of the memory, disgusted by its intrusion. I had been too stupid at the time, too lost in infatuation and love to realize that Marjolaine betrayed me, even then, always, in small ways. I meant nothing to her. I meant nothing to anyone.

The smell of food wafted to my nose and I groaned at the thought of what I might face for breakfast. However, the needs of the body could not be denied. Food and sleep were imperative. Pleasure was a luxury, and one I no longer desired in my life. Pleasure had no meaning, just as I had no meaning. I left the tent and closed my eyes as the morning breeze, cooled by the rain, gently rushed over me.

I would put last night out of my mind and, if the storms came again, I would deal with them in my own way. I would not take advantage of the warden's offer. I watched Salem as she broke her fast, the way she held herself apart from the others still, sitting outside of the circle around the campfire. Her hand rested on her mabari's head, scratching the massive beast behind the ears, a sweet, subtle affection glimmering in her eyes. Still, her brow was creased in discomfort, and she paused after every movement, as though biting down on physical pain.

Pain could be used as currency. I knew this all too well. No, no matter the kindness or seeming innocence in her offer to me, I would not accept it. I could not afford the cost of her pain. One required meaning to have worth, and worth was required for the payment of debts. I had no meaning to anyone in this world, not even myself. How could I possibly have meaning to a woman like Salem Cousland?


	8. First Blood

_**Author's Note:**_ _Thank you to all who have read, favorited, and reviewed this fic. I am sorry for suspending my foray into Dragon Age: Inquisition for this fic, but I am captivated by telling the tale I haven't told before, and hope that it provides a level of enjoyment for all of you who choose to read. So, in this chapter, I am drawing some inspiration from a Grace Kay fic called "_ _ **My Peace**_ _". She wrote the fic as a gift for me, and borrowed my characters. There are parts of that which she has graciously allowed me to make my headcanon, and in the next few chapters, you'll see what I mean. Without further ado, the next chapter._

* * *

 **Diversion to Redcliffe**

 **Salem**

I walked at the head of the group, feeling greatly the need to be alone. The night before, as we camped on the edges of the Brecilian Forest, Alistair had drawn me aside with a confession that might shatter Ferelden sooner than the Blight. He begged me to go to Redcliffe before more time lapsed, to speak to Arl Eamon, brother of the late Queen Rowan…and Alistair's uncle through marriage. The bumbling, good-hearted, jocular Grey Warden...was a Theirin. The blood of kings ran in his veins.

 _In all honesty, Salem, you should have noted it sooner. You have seen King Maric's face,_ _ **and**_ _Cailan's, many times. Alistair bears a remarkable resemblance to the men who are…were…his father and brother. Still…it might do us good in this fight. I know Eamon as well. He is a strong man and a fine noble, one of the few my father liked. But, my father did often note Eamon's shortsightedness; how, after Rowan's death, he would ignore the problems of the kingdom as a whole and rather focus on his arling. If there is a chance one of Ferelden's noblemen does not side with Loghain, and_ _ **might**_ _heed Alistair's plea for help…then he is right. We should attempt to meet with the man sooner than I intended._

Before, I did not know if Eamon would stand alongside us, until we had other members of Ferelden's differing peoples and races united. I knew Loghain Mac Tir. He was known as the Hero of River Dane, the name of an instrumental victory he won in the struggle for Ferelden's independence. Against those who did not love him, he used fear to earn their allegiance. Marriage to Queen Rowan notwithstanding, I had no way of knowing whether or not Eamon retained his allegiance to Maric, or if he had sold it to Loghain to protect his arling in these trying times.

Alistair's words gave me an emotion I did not wish to allow the others to witness as I enjoyed it. The faint glimmer of hope. Loghain, under false accusation, stripped Cousland's nobility. My father and mother were slaughtered. My brother had been killed. Theirs were the faces most well-known at court. Even if I still possessed my title under Ferelden law, no noble, no matter the age of their country, swore allegiance to an unknown. Eamon was well-respected. Perhaps he could keep the arlings and the bannorn from ripping each other to shreds and stand them up as a united front against the _true_ threat facing Ferelden. The archdemon. And Loghain Mac Tir.

"Salem?" A lyrical voice spoke my name and hope bloomed within for an entirely different reason…a reason I did not fully understand. My heart tripped over itself and I looked down at the flaming hair of the Orlesian minstrel. "Is everything all right? I had thought we were to enter the Brecilian Forest today, but you have us walking around it. Granted," She glanced back at Morrigan, "I am rather glad to have only one wild animal dogging our steps."

A brief smile flashed across my face…they were flitting across my lips more and more often, especially when I shared Leliana's company.

"I find her very like a bat." I mused aloud. "The daylight frightens her and turns her into something somewhat able to be dealt with, but, come sunset, Maker protect you from her."

Leliana stifled a giggle before it became a laugh that drew unwanted attention. "Would that she were as useful at catching flies and noxious insects." She murmured and I smiled again.

"That I spoke to you of this must never reach the ears of the others." I cautioned her. "It does not do for a leader to speak ill of those that travel with them, even if only in jest."

Leliana's brows creased and she nodded. "I know all too well that a single word heard awry can cause the downfall of lives and kingdoms."

"Then shame be upon you for drawing me out from my silence." I shocked myself as I teased her. "In my position I cannot afford to speak a single word awry, let alone one."

"Even a single word is better than the nothing you were saying, and no, my Lady, screeching death threats at darkspawn does not count as proper speech." She smiled and, with the sun gleaming off of her hair, it was a lovely portrait that I wished to lock inside my mind and remember, for as long as I lived, that I bore witness to perfect beauty.

 _Where are these thoughts coming from?_ I wondered, shaking my head. _These are the thoughts of…of someone I was able to be, before that night in Highever. That woman cannot exist any longer. She drowned beneath needlessly spilled blood, she died the moment she saw…_ I ended those thoughts before they began again, repeating their sickening sentence of death. _Is it not enough to remember the loss of my parents with horrendous accuracy, every detail pristine and perfect…must I also remember_ _ **her**_ _?_

"And remaining silent now will not dissuade me from my questions." Leliana brought me back to the present moment.

"Remind me again what they were?"

"Why are we going around the forest instead of into it as you planned?" She inquired.

"Ah, that." I nodded. "It has come to my attention that there is one noble in Ferelden who might possess a listening ear as it comes to the plight of the Grey Wardens."

"Besides yourself, you mean?" Leliana did not know it, but she scraped over a wound still somewhat raw.

"My title has been stripped." I murmured. "I am no more a blooded noble than that stand of boulders there." I pointed up the road, where a small hillock rose up on boulders of stone, rocky outcroppings upon which someone could be pinned against from the dark forest on the other side of the road. "Leliana, if you do not have it, fetch your bow and tell the others to arm themselves."

"What is…is everything all right?" She asked, her gaze narrowing as she looked up the road.

"My father and mother were both master tacticians." I reached up and pulls my swords. "This is a merchant's road, built specifically to circumvent the Brecilian Forest in order to honor contracts with the elves made long ago. That area ahead screams of ambush. I would prefer to err on the side of caution."

Leliana fell behind and I heard the low tones of her warning. I quickened my pace, moving steadily ahead of the others. If there were to be an ambush, it would be best to draw it out quickly. To make myself a target so that our enemies, if there were any, would reveal themselves and leave the others more easily able to target them, rather than suffering ambush themselves.

I reached the beginning of the hill and smelled blood, copper and salt rank in the air. Several bodies lay ahead of me, wearing the rag-tag leather and odd armor pieces often indicative of Ferelden bandits, or, worse, military deserters who turned mercenary in attempt to make their way in the world by preying upon others. I knelt beside the first fallen body and examined the bolt lodged in the man's throat…the corpse was fresh…the bolt fletched with raven feathers, fletching typical of darkspawn.

 _But this happened less than a candlemark ago. I know I am a new Grey Warden, but surely I or Alistair would have sensed them. This does not make any sense._

The others arrived, looking around the area, staring at the bodies of the others. Alistair knelt down beside me and noticed the fletchings right away.

"This was done by darkspawn." He muttered. "But this is a fresh kill. Something is off."

"For once, 'twould appear you are right." Morrigan's acidic tones rang near the trees. "There is immense magic here, magic I doubt the Circle mage would notice, for it is _wild_ magic, older in origin than even my mother's. 'Tis suppressing everything. Hiding all signs of life."

I reached out and pressed my fingertips against the pulse point at my neck. Though I knew myself to be alive, I felt nothing. I rested my hand over my heart, but could not feel its beat. Alarm fired through me.

"We need to keep moving, as far as possible as fast…" I halted as Leliana snatched at the air in front of me, stunned when I saw an arrow in her grasp…fletched again with raven feathers.

"Stand and fight!" I shouted, whipping my swords out of their sheathes. "Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana, fire into the forest! Alistair on Wynne, Sten on Morrigan, protect each other until we can see the enemy!"

The glow of flames and flicker of lightning crashed and crackled into the forest. We heard the incoherent cries and brutal raging screams of the darkspawn. As the first one appeared through the shadows, Leliana fired and arrow into its neck. Once the blood of their own scented the air, the flood poured out from the woods.

Knowing I could not protect her standing near, I ran to meet the enemy head on, gutting the first hurlock that Burrow bowled over, stabbing the next in the chest, then ripping my blade out and hammering it down on the armored head of a genlock. The shock of the blow radiated up my arm, but it knocked the genlock to the ground. Burrow took care of the rest, breaking the thing's neck with a single bite.

"No ogres, thank the Maker!" Alistair shouted over the din, and I could not resist a smile at the man's blatant good humor, even when we were fighting for our lives against darkspawn that, for once, we could not sense.

There were no more coming from the forest. The sounds of battle dimmed and I breathed a sigh of relief. Once again, we had survived, with relatively few, if any, injuries. I did not know how much further we could press our luck. One thing, however, was certain. The darkspawn packs roving the surface were growing more in number, and I had begun to take for granted my and Alistair's ability to sense them. I could not risk being so foolish again.

I stopped beside the body of a genlock, noticing that its chest still rose in a jerking motion reminiscent of breath. "Make certain they are all dead." I called to the others and chopped my blade down on the genlock's neck, severing its head.

Burrow yipped and I turned as he drew my attention to a hurlock attempting to rise from the ground. It lay near the boulders and I sighed, walking to my mabari and the dying creature, ending its life with another blow. I turned around and surveyed the others walking among the dead, making certain that none survived.

The sound of falling pebbles rang from behind me and I turned to see Morrigan rifling through the clothing and armor of the dead. Burrow howled a warning of danger and I grabbed the witch by her hair, yanking her backwards, shoving her behind me. I lifted my blade too late, stunned by the shrieking roar of a hurlock a handsbreadth from my face…and the white hot agony of its sword through my stomach.


	9. Terror and Blood

**Penalty of Ambush**

 **Leliana**

Burrow howled and I turned towards the sound. Salem's swords were at her side as she walked to Morrigan. I admired the grace of her figure, remembering, what seemed so long ago, how she protected me during the furious outpouring of darkspawn from the forest. I did wish that there had been time for the others to don their armor, however. I knew all too well what even a dull blade could do to exposed flesh.

 _What is she doing?_ I wondered as Salem reached out with lightning reflexes, grasped the witch of the wilds by her hair and threw her backward, behind the warden. Burrow howled again and I stared in shock as a hurlock burst from behind a boulder, roaring. Salem lifted her blades, but it was too late. A splash of crimson seared my vision and a horrific scream peeled from Salem's lips.

It was guttural, raw, and filled with so much pain that I found my own body aching. Without thought, I began running towards them. A blast of frigid air changed the temperature as Morrigan drove a spike of ice through the hurlock's chest. It fell backwards and I cried out. She had to arrest its fall or… _no_ …the sword ripped upwards into Salem's body before at last pulling free with a dreadful, sucking noise.

 _No!_ My thoughts screamed. _The blade was slowing the bleeding and she's been pierced clean through! We don't have much time!_

I skidded to my knees beside Salem. She lay face down in the dirt, a scarlet stain spreading much too fast across her back, staining her shirt. The same was true of the earth beneath her…a rapidly spreading pool of blood terrified me. I grasped her shoulder and hip, rolling her over as gently as I could. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes pinched shut and she moaned as I eased her back against the ground.

 _How is she still conscious!?_ I wondered. _The pain alone is enough to make someone faint!_

"Salem!" I cried her name, tapping her cheek, hoping to see some sign of awareness. "Salem, stay awake! Look at me, damn you! _Look at me!_ "

Her eyelids fluttered and my heart skipped a beat. The silver-blue was filled with pain and anguish, but I could swear there was a light in her gaze as she looked at me. What terrified me the most was that I did not see even a glimpse of terror in them. If even that, the all-important survival instinct, was gone, then Salem did not have long. She needed a healer.

 _"_ _Wynne!"_ I screamed for the mage.

At the sound of her name, Salem's eyes flared wide and I saw true horror in them. It did not make sense to me. The horrible injury dealt her did not cause her worry…but the sound of a healer's name did? Her eyelids fluttered again and I had no time to ponder my questions. It something was not done soon, I would never receive an answer from Salem Cousland ever again.

"Salem, look at me." I pleaded with her, hoping that she could remain conscious.

 _I have seen the sleep of death too many times. It is difficult to draw one from it, no matter the skill of the healer. She_ _ **must**_ _remain awake. I cannot lose her! Wait…what…_ _ **we**_ _cannot lose her._

I lifted Salem's legs at the bend of her knees, attempting to keep what blood she had left nearer her heart. I could feel her shivering already. Shock would come soon, and she could slip away. I did not know where Wynne was, but I had to try to stop the bleeding. I rested my hands over the gaping gash, feeling Salem's blood drench my hands.

"I am so sorry." I whispered to her, dreading the thought of causing her more pain than she was already in. "This will hurt."

With no further pre-amble, I pressed down on the wound. Salem's body went rigid and her lips opened in another horrific scream. The sound, so guttural and desperate, tore at me. I could not bear the sight of someone in so much pain, especially not someone who…someone who had gone to great lengths to be a friend to me. The sound ended, followed by a breathless, helpless whimper. It stuck in my gut, twisting the muscles and spreading the ache.

I felt the heat of another person beside me and saw a flash of white hair. In a calm, even tone, Wynne spoke.

"When I tell you, Leliana, remove your hands."

I watched as Wynne's brow creased in concentration, and the blue swirl of healing magic wrapped about her hands. I could see concern in her watery blue eyes, and I shared it. Salem's skin was pale as bleached bone, sweat already stood out on her forehead, and her breathing was much too shallow.

 _Please, Wynne, please. I have seen healing magic do wondrous things. Please save her. Please._

"Now." Wynne ordered, and I pulled my hands away.

The senior enchanter's replaced my own and the blue mist of healing poured into Salem's open wound. I clenched my jaw and prayed that the Maker would aid in Salem's healing. I watched the wound as Wynne wielded her magic, my breathing easing as the bleeding began to slow. I breathed a sigh of relief and closed my eyes…until Salem's back arched and she _shrieked_. Her eyes were locked open and in them I saw the purest agony I'd ever witnessed.

Salem's fingers clawed into the ground, her body thrashed, and the sound of her cries rent the air. Wynne kept pouring her magic into the wound, muttering under her breath. The bleeding stopped, but the skin refused to close for Salem's writhing. I pressed my fingers against the pulse point at her wrist…it beat much too fast…intermittently as well. This did not happen until…until…

"Wynne, _please!_ " I could hear pain in my voice…my own pain at watching Salem suffer. "Please, she is in _agony_! Can you not use just enough? Just enough to _save_ her!? She sounds like she's _dying!_ "

Wynne's brows lifted and she stopped the flow of magic. Immediately, Salem's cries ceased, but her body still shuddered with pain. She'd bitten through her lip in her pain and I reached up, wiping away the bright bead of blood. Salem's eyelids fluttered again, but she kept them open, and her gaze rested on me. I wanted to see the terror and pain in them erased.

"We cannot stay here." The qunari rumbled behind us. "Not where this foul magic obscures the warden's senses."

Wynne shook her head. "Moving her in this…this half-healed state is ill-advised. I've only managed to stop the bleeding. She shouldn't stir until the wound is closed."

Salem's lips parted and she managed to gather the strength to speak. "Move…out."

"Salem," I countered, speaking softly. "You cannot risk your life for this. We can post a guard. We'll stay safe. You can't be moved."

"Have to." She mumbled and her lips curved up in some…odd and dark smile.

"She said to go." Alistair's voice broke the silence. "I will carry her and we will move slowly. Just to a place where this magic isn't fouling everything up."

I wanted to protest, to argue. I could still see the gaping puncture in Salem's body. It no longer bled, but if she were moved, the magic's work might be undone. She could not afford to lose more blood…she was already too pale. Alistair knelt down beside her and I saw her tense, anticipating further pain.

"Please, close your eyes." I whispered as Alistair fitted his arms beneath her body. "You do not need to feel this. You do not need to suffer."

Still, she did not close her eyes. Instead, she held them open as if forcing them to remain so, as if she desperately needed to see us to safety. I did not understand…I did not understand why she ran into the ambush first, why she pulled Morrigan behind her…

Alistair lifted Salem and she cried out again, a prolonged scream of anguish that, at last, drove her into unconsciousness. Her body sagged in Alistair's arms and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She would not have to feel the pain for a short while. I fell in step behind Alistair, scouring my memory for any myths or legends that might have told of one who suffered from the touch of a healer's magic.

"It is very odd indeed." Wynne mused, her eyes riveted to Salem, refusing to look away.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Salem and the witch have scarcely exchanged a civil word since I've known them." Wynne replied. "Yet she pulled Morrigan out of danger and took the blow herself. It is strange."

 _Yes,_ I mused _, yes it is. In fact, it makes no sense at all. Burrow alerted all of us to the potential danger. Morrigan was beginning to move, and she might have evaded the hurlock…why did Salem feel the need to step between them? If she wakes, I will have to ask her…if…if…_ the word sounded in my mind like a death knell, but I had witnessed people die of less worrisome injuries. Even a galaxy of hope could not make me say "when."


	10. A Memory Undying

**Lost in the Past**

 **Salem**

 _The sheets draped over me are not the spun linen of the palace, but cotton weave. The hand that slides up my body and rests over my breast is wonderful, exquisite with its calluses and the small tiny scars that show a life of honest labor. The touch is gentle, but my body knows it can be rough in furious frenzy. The memory of that hand inside of me makes me tremble and, though I am sated, descendent from climax, I am hungry again for its touch._

 _"_ _Thank you." Warm, supple lips whisper words of gratitude near my ear and I turn to face the softest sable eyes I have ever seen._

 _This is not the first time I have ever fallen into bed with a daughter of Highever. My father and mother both know of this, but neither have mentioned it. It harms no one, and it is pleasurable for me. The heart aches as it will ache and wants as it will want. There is no one powerful enough to stop the urge of body or spirit. Thus, here I am, flushed, sweat-sheened, and replete._

 _"_ _My lady." She whispers and I frown at her._

 _"_ _There is no need to call me such a thing." I tell her, gentle. "Especially not now, not here, not after what we have shared many, many times."_

 _A beautiful flush strikes her tanned cheeks and she draws back so that she can see me more clearly. "Many times, and still I cannot be certain if you know my name."_

 _I chuckle and smile, reaching out and tangling my fingers in the tresses of her raven hair. "Amaranth." I murmur and a smile, radiant, like the sun, spreads across her lips and brings light to the dim room in which a single candle sputters. "A name which is pleasing on my lips, but would be more so if I knew its meaning."_

 _"_ _A trade for a trade." She tells me, ever a merchant's daughter to the end. "My mother was born in Amaranthine, a province named for the over-abundance of amaranth flowers there. They are strange in appearance, but there is a legend behind them. It is said that the Maker gave Andraste a flower of amaranth as a declaration of his love for her. She wore the amaranth in her hair, and in the years she worked in Thedas and led the Exalted March, the flower, even severed from its stem, did not fade. When she burned, the flower rested, unburned, upon the Ashes, and was used to mark her final resting place. Legend has it that, to this day, the color of the flower is as rich and unsullied as the day it was plucked by the Maker's hand."_

 _"_ _So you are named for immortality?" I question, delighted by the richness of her mother's gift to her, a meaning and a promise which shall surely carry her through life and make it a prosperous and blessed one. "An undying gift?"_

 _She lowers her eyes and her delicate lashes cast shadows against her cheeks. "I myself am, of course, as mortal as anyone." She speaks, soft, tremulous. "But my love, Salem, is as undying as my namesake."_

 _A pure fear strikes my heart. I do not wish to speak of love. Not to this woman, whom I admire, adore, and share my nights with…but the sound of her name does not cause my heart to pound. I know that I am capable of forgetting her in the busyness of the day. I do not bring her image to my mind when I rest my head alone at night, nor when I take my pleasure in my own hand. I care for her deeply, but it is not love…it cannot be love. I want my father's love for my mother, the promise of eternity that I see in their eyes when they speak to one another, when they give each other a meaningful glance, or a single, gentle touch as they pass on their way to their own pursuits. This woman is my friend and my lover…but she is not my_ _ **love**_ _._

 _"_ _Amaranth…"_

 _"_ _What is the meaning of your name?" She speaks over me, directing the conversation away from…from my confession. I do not know if she knows what words are soon to reach my lips, but I allow her to allay them, at least for tonight. Tonight, when we are happy and content._

 _"_ _I was born before the war with Orlais." I tell her the story of my naming. "But when liberty from them was being spoken of. When men of honor met in clandestine places and made plans to change the world. My father did not want to fight, though he saw no other way free. Orlais would not let Ferelden go. And war was coming. My father…my father named me Salem. It means peace, and it is the thing he wants most in this world. His hope. His dream."_

 _"_ _Peace?" Amaranth lies on her back, looks at the ceiling, and muses. "That is a lovely, layered meaning. But it is how I feel now. Peaceful. Beside you…even though when I leave you and return to my father's roof, away from this inn, I am terrified that he will…that he will know, somehow."_

 _I roll over, drape my arm around her, and kiss her. "Would he even believe it if he did find out?"_

 _"_ _That I was bedding the teyrn's daughter?" She giggles against my lips. "No. He would not. But that I preferred the company of women? He might believe that…and he would know…he would know, Salem, for it is in my eyes, my face, and my voice…that I love one."_

 _"_ _Amaranth." I whisper her name, a sinking feeling in my gut that this might be the last time I say it. "Have I ever been dishonest with you? Have you ever felt that I've lied to you?"_

 _"_ _No, Salem." Her sable eyes met mine. "I don't believe you ever have."_

 _"_ _I'm not lying now." I told her. "But these words are going to break my heart. I never wanted to hurt you, Amaranth. I care for you, deeply. This time that we have spent together has been fulfilling and blissful. But I feel I must spare you further pain." I breathe deep, loathing myself, both for my honesty, and for my knowledge of myself. "I do not love you as you love me."_

 _Still and silent, tears slip from her eyes, dropping down her cheeks and gracing the pillows of our stolen time. She nods her head and her lips tremble._

 _"_ _I know." She breathes, her words tremoring out. "I have known for…for quite some time. But it was so…so sweet." She reaches out and her hand rests against my cheek. "So sweet to be in your presence, with your body next to mine. These nights we've stolen are…are forever mine, Salem. And no one can take that from me. Not even you."_

 _"_ _I would never try to." I want so much to ease the pain I see in her gaze, but I am its cause, not its mender. I am not her peace. "But I cannot hurt you any longer."_

 _Amaranth smiles. "You never hurt me, Salem." She whispers. "You gave me this time with you. You let me love you in my way and never turned it aside when your own could not reciprocate. And, even now, you are not taking anything from me but your presence. Even that cannot turn aside love."_

 _"_ _Amaranth, I want you to be happy." I plead with her, attempt to allow her to see that she cannot continue loving me, or it might destroy her._

 _"_ _I am happy." She tells me, looking at me as though I am the one gone mad. "But you are not. And I want nothing more than for you to know happiness in love as I do."_

 _"_ _I…I do not understand." I murmur._

 _"_ _Well, I am a bit older than you, my lady, and my eyes are not blinded by the inherent blindness of the nobility." She flashes me a grin. "I see people for what they are, and love them while I may. No matter the cost. If you have learned anything from your time with me, learn that."_

 _I smile at her, for she is marvelous and pure and beautiful, and someone very worthy of the love I cannot give. But I know, in the depths of me, in my very soul, that someday I wish to love so fiercely, to speak to another in the way she is speaking to me now, with purity of heart and conviction._

 _"_ _I will." I promise her. "Thank you, Amaranth."_

 _"_ _Thank you, my lady."_

 _The veil has descended. She will not speak my name again. That intimacy between us is lost. But I know, as I walk from the room, that there is a soul who loves me and cherishes what little I was able to give. I resolve that I will never make that mistake again. I will not offer intimacy to someone…someone I am not worthy of touching. I will not offer until I am certain that I can give everything of myself and love…no matter the cost._


	11. A Definition Remembered

**An Exhausted Rest**

 **Leliana**

I strode far ahead of the others, searching for a place to make camp. Every time I inquired, Wynne and Morrigan told me that the obfuscating magic still seeped from the borders of the forest. Over two candlemarks had passed since the ambush, and I worried that I would not be able to conceal my abject fear from the others. Hence, I walked before them, not wanting them to be able to read my features. I wanted no inquiry as to my emotions, for I myself did not know how I felt…or _why_ I felt.

 _It has been naught but a month._ I struggled to reason with myself. _A month since the vision, since the Grey Wardens arrived in Lothering. We have become friends, yes, but…but my heart is hammering in my chest as though it is about to break. I cannot seem to gather my breath. My entire body aches as though it is screaming at me to run, to act, to_ _ **do**_ _something to fix this, but I know so little of Salem. I know her name, that she is the youngest child of a noble house, and how she came to join the Grey Wardens. Beyond that, I know nothing…_

 _…_ _save that she has been kind to me._

I shivered, letting the jaws of wisdom instilled through torture demolish my last thought. I could not indulge such a ridiculous fantasy. I could take nothing at face value, for there was nothing pure left in the world. Every coin had two sides, and every person had at least two faces. The one shown to the world, and the monster inevitably behind every mask.

 _Never trust a kindness freely given, pretty thing._ Marjolaine's old words of warning rang through my mind, driving away my traitorous thoughts. _There is nothing free in this wide, wicked world. Let my love of you stand as proof, my darling._

I did not understand that last sentence on the day she spoke it, but the years that went by…and the way in which our bond was broken proved her words true in every devastating way. However, nothing I had witnessed ever disproved that warning. The few times I managed to believe in trust in Lothering…those were shattered when the true faces of those I spoke with, dealt with, and lived alongside, were shown to me.

I would be safe, so long as I did not allow myself to fall into the pit, the entrapment, that was trust. However, that did not mean that I could abandon Salem in her time of need. The Maker spoke to me, told me to join the cause of the Grey Wardens. Man betrayed, but gods did not. I knew all of the old legends, all of the tales. The gods were direct in their wishes, straight-forward in their requests. They did not play with the hearts and minds of mortals.

 _The Maker placed me here, to help the wardens. That is all that I must do. I will risk my life in this endeavor, but I must not allow my heart to beat for anyone save the Maker, who gave me this divine quest. He wishes the wardens to succeed, and I will do my utmost to make certain of it. We have to see to Salem's safety…her health must be my paramount concern, but I cannot let this affect me._

Ahead of me I saw the stone of the mountain that pinned us against the forest grow lower and connect with the earth. I ran ahead, whispering a prayer of thanks as I saw a clearing between where this mountain ended, and the next began. I ran back to the others.

"There's a clearing up ahead." I managed to speak between gasping breaths.

"'T'would seem to be providence." Morrigan spoke. "The clouding magic has been fading this last candlemark, and has dissipated."

 _Thank the Maker_.

"I will go ahead and set up camp." The qunari spoke, leading the single donkey that carried our tents and supplies on this mad dash through Ferelden.

I turned to join him and we ran ahead, setting up Salem's tent, finding Wynne's supplies and satchels. I carried them in and set them on the ground, then hastily set about unrolling the cotton-stuffed pallets Salem had secured from the templar's quartermaster at the Circle. I took a rolled blanket and set it at the head to serve as a pillow, finishing just as Alistair entered the tent, Wynne two steps behind him.

The man was breathing heavy, his hair and shirt soaked with sweat from his exertions. He all but crumpled to his knees and set Salem's body down on the pallet. His shoulders slumped and he sagged, catching his breath. He wiped sweat from his brow.

"I can't…can't hear her breathing anymore." He muttered.

"Get yourself some water, Alistair." Wynne counseled him as she knelt down, her knees creaking. "After that, find some shade and rest for a while. Thank you for bearing her this far."

The young warden looked distraught. His dark eyes were wild, pained as they gazed down upon Salem. He reached out and brushed away the lank hair stretched over her pallid cheek.

"She has to be all right." He breathed, his words fierce as a prayer.

"I will do for her all that I can." Wynne promised. "But I need room to work. Take care of yourself, Alistair, so that we can all care for Salem."

Alistair almost raced from the tent in his attempt to give Wynne space. I looked down at Salem, terrified. Her skin held the waxy, white sheen of death. The stain of blood on her clothing had spread further…the wound had bled during the walk here. Her breathing was shallow and too fast; it did not cause her chest to rise.

"Where do I even begin?" Wynne's voice trembled. "It should be so easy. Healing magic, once learned…it can do so much, but I dare not use it…not if she reacts in the same way that she did."

"We have to do _something_." The panic in my voice terrified me. I forced my lips shut and screamed at my heart to cease its needless frenetic beat.

"And we shall." Wynne stated, reaching for a canteen and pouring water into a bowl. "There are curved needles and a roll of silk in my pack. Fetch it and thread it, please."

I obeyed, reaching for her satchel and digging through it, finding what she required. The mage's hand touched the water in the bowl and the water within it began to boil, purifying it so that it might be used to cleanse the wound. My hands trembled as I threaded the needle and I cursed at myself. There were many times I had stitched my injuries with my own hands, and they had never been unsteady. I did not understand my reaction, but knew that it had something to do with a low, rasping voice, blue eyes that were wells of emotion unexpressed, and twin blades that protected me in battle.

I set the threaded needle aside and drew a blade from my wrist sheathe, using it to slice through Salem's shirt. I pulled the cloth to the side, laying bare the wound, gasping as I saw it. With most of the bleeding stopped, the gash looked more horrid, a gross wrong that should not be. The gaping edges of her skin seared my eyes and I bit my lip as Wynne held a candle over the wound.

"There is cloth in the wound." Wynne muttered. "Carried there by the sword, no doubt. It must be removed." She hung her head and held out the canteen. "I need your assistance, Leliana."

I poured the water out on my hands, cleaning them as Wynne had done. They trembled still, and I could not force them to cease. I needed to put them to some use, to work with them, so that they would remain beneath my control and not fissure beneath the barrage of emotions I had no right or need to feel.

"When I tell you, take the edges of the wound, and spread the skin." Wynne told me. She unrolled a leather pouch and withdrew a pair of thin, metal pincers, much like the tool the ladies of Orlais used to shape their eyebrows. "I will use these to remove the cloth, then we must make haste to cleanse the wound and stitch it, and pray…oh, we must pray. It is too soon for this child to leave the earth."

My eyes flared to Wynne's. "Is she…will she…"

"I have seen lesser injuries bring swifter death." Wynne whispered and the cold breath of fear whispered at the nape of my neck. "We must be swift. Now."

I reached out and pressed my fingers at the edges of the wound, wincing as I felt the chill of Salem's skin. She was cold…much too cold. I strengthened my resolve and pulled the skin apart, feeling anxiety roar at me as thick, dark blood began oozing from the wound. Wynne cursed as she eased the pincers into the gash. Her fingers twitched on the metal, compressing it. She exhaled, slow and measured, and removed the pincers. I released the breath I did not know I held when I saw a ragged, blood-drenched piece of cloth come free. Salem twitched beneath my hands and I pulled them away, startled.

"She is reacting to painful stimulus." Wynne observed. "This is a good sign."

The senior enchanter reached for the bowl of steaming water and, without preamble, poured it into the wound. Salem shuddered and a pitiful groan crossed her lips. My heart ached. This wound could have been avoided…if she had called warning to Morrigan instead of standing between the witch and the hurlock's blade.

 _Why did she place herself in danger when a simple cry would suffice? It does not make tactical sense. It is not a standard action…utter disregard for the safety of self to ensure that another is protected. Does Salem owe Morrigan some sort of debt…that could not be the case. No debt is so grave that it would require a life when that life is required to stop the Blight that threatens the world._

Wynne took a clean piece of bandaging and wiped away the blood and water before taking up her needle. She paused, looking at me. "You are competent in the stitching of wounds, yes?" She asked. I nodded. "Haste is necessary. If we turn her to her side, you can stitch the entry wound and I shall do the same for the exit."

"Yes, of course." I acquiesced.

Working together, Wynne and I managed to roll Salem onto her uninjured right side. I steadied her between two rolled blankets and took the threaded needle that Wynne extended to me. I ran the needle through the candle flame, then began the process of closing the wretched tear in her body. Her blood stained my hands and I could feel her muscles quivering beneath her skin. I focused on keeping my stitches clean, neat, and precise.

Though I remained focused on the wound, the wicked scars from the arrows she took at the tower of Ishal glared in my peripheral vision. Years ago, when I indulged desire, Salem was not the sort that my eyes took delight in, but she was a…a striking woman. Much had been taken from her. She did not deserve to have her beauty taken as well. It was too late for me, but I could help her in this way. I could minimize the scar.

A few moments more, and it was done. Wynne wiped sweat from her brow and reached for the rolls of linen in her satchel. With great care, I lifted Salem, holding her up as Wynne bandaged the wound. She was still so cold, but her skin was clammy with sweat. The whisper of her breath against my neck was light and arrhythmic…it concerned me.

"Leliana," Wynne pulled my attention away from Salem's pained features, "here." She extended her own canteen to me. "She lost a dangerous amount of blood and desperately needs water. Can you watch over her? The Brecilian Forest is known to have many blood-restorative herbs, and Salem needs every advantage we can grant her."

"Of course." I agreed as Wynne rose to her feet.

She walked to the entrance of the tent and looked back at me, her brow creased in thought. "She needs to be kept warm as well. We cannot have a fire in the tent, and I will not let her be moved again for at least a day, more if I can manage it. I do so hate to ask this of you but…would you consider staying with her tonight? Sharing your warmth?"

"I…" The very idea terrified me…the thought of being close to someone in the dark, through the night, of a body close to my own, the vulnerability brought out beneath the moon that no soul could rise above. "I…"

 _But that night…the thunderstorm. Salem was badly bruised, in pain, and she remained beside me. She shared her warmth and her protection…she brought a light into the darkness. I can do this for her. I can repay her. That way I have no debt and she…she will have nothing to hold over me._

"I will stay with her." I promised.

"Thank you, my dear." Wynne offered me a soft smile. "I will ask Alistair to find and fetch more water, and there is some dried venison and fruit in my pack. Please, avail yourself."

"Thank you, Wynne."

The mage departed and I lifted the canteen to Salem's slack lips, pouring water into her mouth, heartened when the muscles of her throat moved and she swallowed. I eased her down the slightest bit and continued helping her drink, desperate to help restore the fluids she lost. Salem shivered and I moved as quickly as I could, unrolling two thick, woolen blankets and pulling them as tight as I could around her, to seal in what little body heat she possessed.

 _Maker knows_ _ **what**_ _was on that blade,_ I thought, feeling something akin to despair. _We had nothing stronger than boiling water to cleanse her wound. Infection is a very real possibility and she is so weak._

"Maker above," I parted my lips in a whispering prayer, "you sent me to aid these wardens in their struggle. I cannot believe that you intend to take one of them to your side when this quest is scarcely begun. I beg you now to watch over her…to watch over us all."

Salem shuddered and I pulled her tighter against me, lending her my warmth and support. I looked down at her face. Her brow creased, her lips turned down at the corners, and her eyelids fluttered open the slightest bit. The blue of them appeared washed out, leaving them the dull grey of a morning fog. It terrified me that it was the sole color she possessed. Even her lips were pale.

"Leli?" Her voice rasped out, squeaking over the syllables.

"Hush." I urged her. "Do not speak, Salem. Conserve your strength."

"You…" her words slurred, "…ev'yone…all right?"

 _She cannot be serious!?_ My mind protested what my ears heard with stark clarity. _She hovers at death's door and asks after the rest of us!? How is that even possible? How is she even awake?_

"We are well." I reassured her. "Do not worry over us. You must focus on healing, Salem. Please, rest."

She shivered again and her head listed further onto my shoulder. Her breath shuddered out and I saw her eyes squeeze shut. A piteous moan ripped from her chest and my heart ached at my inability to ease her pain.

"Sleep, Salem." I wanted to make it an order, but it emerged as a plea. "We are safe, now. You needn't suffer."

"Thir…sty." She mumbled, her words quavering as her shivering intensified. My worry grew as I saw sweat break out on her forehead.

"Here." I lifted Wynne's canteen to her lips, hoping that Alistair would be successful in his search for water. Our stores were low, and Salem would surely perish without it. "Small sips."

She obeyed, and I did not know if she whimpered in pain or relief as the cool water made its way down her throat. I took heart as she drank a quarter of the canteen, but fear soon retook me as her shivering worsened until her entire body shook against mine, punctuated by her gasps of pain and the clenching of her jaw.

I took the blanket I'd rolled up for her pillow and awkwardly unfolded it with one hand, draping that one over us as well. The heat was stifling, but I would bear it. If the shivering grew more violent, she risked tearing the stitches, and she could not bleed again. That _would_ spell her death. I stretched out as much as I could, resting my back against the support pole of the tent, connecting as much of myself with Salem's body as I could, offering her my warmth. After a moment, she still trembled, but much less than before.

"Sorry…for this." Her words whispered over my collarbone, sending a shiver down my spine. "Thank you...for…caring…for me." The words consumed all of her strength, and struck me like a blow to the face.

 _So gentle. So very…_ _ **noble**_ _._ The true definition of the word struck me, a woman who had seen that definition bastardized and adulterated on levels obscene and sacrosanct. But I knew the word for its meaning, and it was this moment. A moment where a woman lay in agony and still…still possessed the grace to express gratitude. Moments like this did not exist outside of books and legends, fictional stories that often showed the best that the race of men could be…but the race of men never achieved that greatness. It was an ideal, a figurative, not something that…that truly happened in the world.

 _Until now. Until this moment. Who_ _ **are**_ _you, Salem Cousland?_

Any response I could think of to her thanks sounded trite and contrived in my hearing. I did not know what to say, how to respond. She would probably have no memory of this moment if she woke from her next slumber. I, however, would remember it for the rest of my days.

"Rest, Salem." I begged her again, fighting tears whose origin I did not want to examine as the tension in her body eased, and her eyes slipped closed.


	12. Sacrifices and Questions

**The Nightmare of Highever**

 **Salem**

 _"_ _Salem, my girl, be strong." My mother urges me as we run through the streets._

 _I can scarcely see through the tears in my eyes, tears which have streamed without ceasing since I saw Oren's little body broken on the floor, in a pool of blood too small…so small…his life ripped out of him by the blade of our enemy. An enemy welcomed into our gates, men allowed into our borders and granted safe travel. I know that I need to access my anger, the anger I see burning in my mother's eyes, carrying her through the carnage and the losses._

 _She does not weep. She will not weep until later, when we have found my father. When we are safe. I do not believe that I will ever feel safe again. My own home has been ransacked, torn from me, taken away. I do not know if I will ever sleep again. If I will ever have a dream that is not a nightmare. If I will ever cease weeping._

 _"_ _Hold here." My mother hisses, pulling me into a corner as a troop of Howe's men passed by._

 _I leaned against the wall and the pain swept over me again. I put my hand to my side and my mother's eyes filled with worry and concern. Her hands flew to my shirt and pulled it up, looking at the slash on my side, given by the man who would have stabbed me through the abdomen in my sleep, had Burrow not mauled him just in time._

 _"_ _Oh, Maker above." My mother breathed, her eyes transfixed to my riven skin and the blood streaming from the gash. "Why did you say nothing, Salem!?" She berates me, her hands shaking as she sees the smooth edges of the wound, not easily mended by any healer, even a mage._

 _"_ _There were other things to be concerned about." I muttered, wincing as she probed the edges attempting to ascertain the wound's depth._

 _"_ _You are your father's daughter." She murmured. "Incorrigible. Hold still."_

 _My mother takes a knife in hand and cuts cloth from her own tunic; a heavily padded archer's tunic, most often overlaid with boiled leather she did not have time to don. Her hands are gentle as she wraps it around the wound, tying knots directly over the slash to direct pressure and hopefully slow bleeding. Her brows are furrowed in concern, her heart breaking as she sees that her living child is also damaged by Howe's men…that, should we escape, we will be fugitives. I know that her eyes are flying back to the war, when she fought alongside my father and saw the wounded during retreat…how the wounds festered, how her brothers and sisters perished in a hazed fever dream of agony and infection. She sees this future for me, and there are greater nightmares to be vanquished._

 _"_ _Mother." I rest my hand on her shoulders. "Worry for me later. We should find father."_

 _"_ _You're right, you practical child." She wipes her eyes and shakes herself back into our horrific reality. "Let's go."_

 _We begin running again through the blockaded streets of Highever. I cringe as I see that the bodies strewn across the ground are not simply the soldiers under my father's command. They are men and women and children, innocents afraid of the fires burning, who ran into the streets and met the uncompromising blades of a monster._

 _"_ _Salem!" My mother lifts her bow and cries warning._

 _Four cross bows are aimed at us. I race to find cover, but there is nothing near. My mother's arrows take two in the throat, but not soon enough. They fire and I close my eyes, expecting to feel the burst of pain inside my body, to feel the heat of blood sluicing down my skin…it does not come. Instead, I am borne down to the cobblestone streets, the heat of a living body covering me. I pull my savior behind a fallen wagon, wondering who has spared my life from my enemy…a wash of raven hair covers my arm as I turn them and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach._

 _Three wicked bolts are embedded in her back. There is a smear of crimson at her lips and her eyes are glazed with pain and shock. I pull her into my lap and hold her close, uncertain how this happened, wondering why…why her own life was not her priority above all as our town and our safety is razed._

 _"_ _Amaranth!" I tap her cheek, attempting to pull her into awareness, into the present, here, with me. "Amaranth!" I shriek her name and her eyes focus on me._

 _Her paling lips curve upwards into a smile and she reaches out with a limpid hand and touches my cheek. I can feel her affection in her touch and see that in her eyes lies something that can be…nothing else but the majesty of love in purest form. I do not understand. It has been three_ _ **years**_ _since we parted ways. How is this possible…how can she still feel._

 _"_ _You are well, I trust." She whispers, a harsh cough breaking the silence, her blood spattering my nose and lips and cheeks as I lean close to hear her._

 _"_ _Why did you do that?" I ask her, needing to know…in this place, with this panic resurgent, this nightmare so evident, there should be no reason for her to sacrifice…her_ _ **life**_ _. "Amaranth…"_

 _"_ _Silly girl." She whispers. "Love can't be killed. Not if it's…real."_

 _I can feel her fading in my arms, her eyelids flutter and her breath hitches, slows, and vanishes to a murmur._

 _"_ _Amaranth!" I scream._

 _ **She had no part of this! No place here! She could have remained within the safety of her home and seen the light of morning and**_ _ **lived**_ _ **! WHY!?**_

 _"_ _Always…love you…my lady." She breathes, her last…last moment, last words, last truth. "Forever dear…my Salem…my…heart."_

 _"_ _No!" I rage and my hands shake with the rage I heretofore could not grasp. The sound of running feet reaches me, as does the shrill cry of my mother's warning._

 _Burrow slayed my assassin. My mother has protected us. I have never taken a human life. I have never known what it is to kill a man. But in my arms I hold a woman who perished protecting me. A woman who loved me even though I could not give her that gift in return. Her blood soaks my hands and my clothing and I see nothing but the scarlet of pure wrath coursing through my veins and hovering before my eyes._

 _I rise from where I hold her and pull my swords, running from my cover and crashing into Howe's murderers. My blades whip out without remorse or mercy. I do not care about their screams of pain. I do not care as they fall beneath my blades. I do not care that their mother's will mourn, that their father's hearts will ache, that their lover's will find themselves bereft or their children orphaned. My pain is my purpose, my rage all that I can find. In that moment, my tears cease to exist, evaporated by the hatred consuming me._

 _An innocent died for me…a woman I denied because my heart in its youthful idiocy refused a gift. A gift that had taken my death in my place. I would not let her death be in vain and I would know, as my blade ripped through the heart of a living, breathing man, that to love was to suffer, to love was to die, and to love was to stand before all the enemies of all the world, regardless of reason for being, and to, if necessary,_ _ **die**_ _for the heart that gave you life. The heart that you held cherished…dear…above all things._

* * *

"Salem!" I heard a voice, screaming my name, pulling me into a haze of pain and dim awareness. "Salem, please! Stop! Wake up, please!"

I wrestled with the black that wished to draw me backwards. The voice calling to me was so frantic, so desperate. It must be honored. I opened my eyes to a flash of red-rimmed blue eyes, pale skin. There was a force on my shoulders, unrelenting pressure…Leliana's hands.

"Thank the Maker." She breathed. "Stay still." She begged me. "Stay awake and stay still."

I nodded my head and the pressure departed. She sat beside me and I could feel her eyes raking over every part of me. I wanted to speak, to say something, but my mouth felt as dry as the desert. I parted my lips, but nothing emerged by a rasping squeak. A canteen appeared at my lips and Leliana's hand lifted my head and helped me drink.

"You were thrashing about in your sleep." Her voice trembled. "I was afraid you would tear open your wound."

"Are we all…safe?"

She shook her head. "You are incorrigible." She reminded me of my mother's words from the dream and I flinched, hissing as it jarred the injury. "We camped in a break between the mountains. Out of view, but away from that horrible magic. It has only been a few candlemarks. Wynne said not to wake you but…but I could not keep you still."

"My dreams were…troubled." I admitted, almost ashamed. I did not want her to see that pain, that history. She had not asked for it, and it would not be fair to burden her with my history.

"I know." Her voice was low, caring, concerned. "I am well aware of that particular malady. However, I thought I knew all the pain this world had to offer. It would appear, seeing you healed, that I am wrong. It seemed as though it was ripping you apart."

"It does." I murmured, knowing that I could not hide from it now. "It always has."

"What is it?" She demanded, but her words were not unkind. They were worried, almost anxious. "What makes you react that way?"

"I do not know." I shook my head and immediately regretted it. "It has simply…always been."

Leliana shuddered. "Even as a child?"

"Even so."

"I cannot imagine knowing the breadth of that agony…so young." She whispered.

 _Though…she knows it._ I thought. _I can see it in her gaze. In the way she carries herself. In the way she looks into my eyes with nothing less than true empathy._

"How am I…how am I doing?" I asked her. I felt weak, drained of all energy. Pain roared in every part of me, eating into my mind, making the black I had emerged from seem so much more welcoming than before.

Leliana shook her head. "According to Wynne, not so well." She told me. "She saved your life but…but recovery will take some time."

"We have no time." I attempted to push myself up, falling backwards as the wound to my abdomen shrieked at me with tenable fury.

"Salem, lie down." Leliana ordered. "Wynne wishes to let you heal in the natural way…if healing is so painful…she says it might damage you more than help."

"I was run through." I rationalized. "That could take months to heal. Months we don't have."

"You would think a leader would understand that running into the area of possible ambush might result in an injury that would cost valuable time." The words were harsh, caustic…a tone in which she had never spoken to me before.

"I do understand such a thing." I told her, watching the crystalline blue of her eyes harden.

"Do you?" She questioned me, her gaze unmoving from my own. "Because I believe, for the first time, that you might be lying."


	13. The Question, First of Many

**The Tent**

 **Leliana**

Salem stared at me, her eyes devoid of any emotion. I wondered if she might expect me to recant my statement, but I would not. I meant every single word. Our mission was important. The Blight _must_ be stopped, and we were in danger if the sole person among us with any capability and willingness to lead ran headlong into attacks for no apparent reason.

 _If she has a death wish, then we_ _ **must**_ _know. If I must be harsh to unearth that truth, then I will be_ _ **harsh**_ _._

"You truly believe that I do not understand the danger we are in every moment?" Salem asked, her voice quiet, calm. "That my life is in right now. Do you think I do not feel pain, Leliana?"

She waited for my response, and her question did unnerve me. Had I accused her of not being able to feel? Perhaps. That did not matter. I would not let her inquiries distract me. She needed to understand her importance in all of this. And I needed to know that she spoke the truth. For all of our sakes.

"I know that you feel pain, Salem." I allowed no feeling to enter my gaze. "Those screams were not manufactured." I shivered at the memory of seeing her in agony, of the way healing magic made her body seize and a horrific noise of anguish tear from her lips. "But I do not think you understand what your life means, or you would not have taken the actions you did this day. This is not the way in which a commander leads their troops, and this is most certainly _not_ the way in which a noble guides those beneath their command."

 _You may be of noble blood, Salem, but that does not mean you are any sort of tactician or strategist. I have stood on fields of battle. I have watched, and observed. The strong fight from the rear, using their minds to battle, not their bodies. It is the way in which decisive victories are achieved. What good does it do for the sake of the battle if those who lead are lost? None. It does nothing._

The dispassionate look in Salem's eyes faded, and the glint of cold steel entered her gaze. Were I to look at her face alone, I would have been hard-pressed to believe that she was so very weak.

"So it is my nobility that must define my character?" She asked, her voice sharper than my blades. "I am not the determiner of myself? The title I once held must govern everything that I do, and the way in which I do it? How do you rationalize that, Leliana?"

"I have seen nobles who fight, Salem." I did not realize, at the time, that I revealed more of my past than I wanted, but in that moment, I did not care. "It does not change. It does not waver. The lives of leaders come first in battle, Salem. What good is victory without the minds who guide it? If this is a lesson you have not learned, then I feel compelled to relay it to you. You _must_ allow us to fight _for_ you, Salem."

"Why?" She challenged me, and I did not understand it. No other titled man or woman would have. They would have understood without questioning. "Do you consider your life worth less than mine, Leliana? Because I do not."

 _You are not making any sense, you damnable woman!_ My thoughts cried out. _Why will you not see reason! This is not a question of the importance of one life over another! It never is, in war! It cannot be…_ My mind slowed, remembering something…remembering a knife in my side, the low, mocking laughter of a voice that once spoke words of love to me. _But what would have happened…what would have happened if Marjolaine held my life in the same esteem as she held her own? Would I be here, in this moment? Would her blade have ever found my body; would she have betrayed me without second thought? She knew me for years and possessed all of me for that time, but never was I…never was I of the same value she accorded herself. How is it that_ _ **this**_ _woman,_ I looked at Salem, _can accord our lives the same value as she does her own…knowing nothing of us?_

"I…I am not certain I know the answer to that question." I told her, my voice lowering.

"You've…yet to see what I do." Salem smiled, soft and winsome. "The value of your own life. But that is a conversation for another time. I've no strength to fight, Leliana. You are correct in one matter. The mission should not suffer for the injuries of its leader."

Her arm lashed out, throwing off the blankets. She wore nothing but trousers, her breastband, and the thick wrappings of bandages. Her jaw clenched and she sat up in stilted, labored movements. I reached out to stop her, but her hand batted mine away with a strength I did not think she had. Before I could move again, she managed to get her feet beneath her and she stood. Sweat dripped down her face and she breathed in ragged gasps. The pain she was in must have been overwhelming…unbearable even. It had not even been a _day_.

 _How is she even_ _ **moving!?**_

"Salem, stop!" I called out to her, but she ignored me. Instead, she staggered towards the opening of the tent. She pushed the flap aside, and spoke.

"Alistair, Sten." She spoke to the others outside. "I would appreciate your assistance in breaking camp. We should use what daylight we have left to make further headway to Redcliffe. I imagine we can manage at least five more miles before sunset."

"Have you gone completely mad!?" Alistair's voice erupted and I jumped to my feet as Salem swayed. If she fell, she would do nothing but further injure herself. "I watched a sword go clean through ou a few candlemarks ago! How… _how are you bloody_ _ **standing?!**_ "

"That does not…not matter." She gasped and slumped into herself, wrapping her arm around her injury. "What does matter is that I am standing and sane and well enough. It has been made clear, in no uncertain terms, that the mission should not suffer because I took a sword through the belly. Pain notwithstanding, we're moving out."

"Salem!" I shouted, moving closer to her. "Get back in here! This is _not_ what I meant!"

"Not with your words, perhaps." She smiled at me, leaving me bewildered. I could not imagine how much pain she was in. "But even the broadest life lived has not seen everything." She told me, gentle. "I am not the nobles that you have observed before, nor am I the leaders you have known. I am Salem Cousland. I understand the importance of my place in this world at this time. You are right, and this is my decision. I will either endure pain from further, speedy healing, or I will surpass my injuries and their discomfort, and continue forward."

"I only asked you for your consideration of the situations we encounter." I insisted.

"You believed that I lied when I told you I did consider them." She countered my argument, piercing me with her eyes. "This is my proof. That not only do I understand the ramifications of my actions, I am also willing to bear the consequences of them. Neither my actions nor my injuries will _ever_ compromise our ability to stop this Blight. Do you believe me now, Leliana?"

I trembled at her words, at the force in them, at the adamant belief that somehow kept her standing. She should not have been able to do that. She should not even be capable of sitting up. It had taken me weeks to gather the strength to sit after…after the dungeons. Salem had only slept for seven candlemarks, and her rest had not been peaceful.

"This is not happening." I shook my head. "I have stepped outside of reality, I must be dreaming. No mortal man can do this. You were run through!"

"I was healed."

" _Not enough!_ " My voice rose to panic pitch. She frightened me, standing there, pale as death, dripping sweat, being so courageous and foolhardy that I admired her courage and feared for her life. " _No one_ stands after that sort of injury! For _days! I have_ _ **seen**_ _it!"_

"Do you doubt your eyes now, Leliana?" She asked me, her voice trembling as her body faltered. "Do you doubt me?"

"You are willing to…to continue walking?" I demanded, incredulous. "To continue moving as though a darkspawn blade _through your body_ was naught but the bite of a noxious insect!?"

"I am." She spoke with all of her truth, all of her honesty, and I could sense that she desperately wished for me to believe her. In spite of my doubts, about her, about everything, about myself and life and fate and gods…I did believe her words. "The sole question, now, Leliana…is…" Her skin turned another shade of white and she sucked in air in short, bursting gasps, "…will you walk with me? Will you…trust me…to lead us through this? Will you…believe…that I understand…my limitations, my actions, and their consequences?"

"I will." I replied, mostly in hopes that this conversation would end and I could coax her back to rest.

"Good." She whispered. "Thank you." She doubled over, groaning. "Then I pray you believe enough…to forgive me…" She swayed, "…when this happens again."

"Salem?" She looked terribly unwell, and I was worried she would fall. "Salem, you've gone frightfully pale."

"So it would seem." She murmured, pressing a hand against her injury. She pulled it away…wet and red. "Perhaps all this blood would explain that?"

"Maker!" I exclaimed as her knees buckled.

I wrapped her in my arms before she fell, catching her and managing to hold her upright. She kept what weight she could on her own feet as we staggered backwards to the pallet. By the time we reached it, she had no strength left. She collapsed on top of me and I sank to my knees, easing her body away from mine as gently as I could, helping her lie down.

"Wynne!" I shouted. "Wynne, come quickly! Her wound has reopened! Salem," I drew her eyes to mine, "stay with me, you fool."

"'M here." She breathed, one corner of her mouth quirking upwards at the corner, devastating me.

Soft footfalls entered the tent and Wynne swept over to us, kneeling down beside Salem. A small blade appeared in her hand and she ripped through Salem's bandages, exposing the raw wound. The stitches of the entry wound had ripped open; blood oozed out…blood she could not afford to lose.

"Leliana, I must use magic." Wynne spoke. "Hold her down. She'll rip apart everything if she does not remain still!"

I propped Salem up, wrapping my arms under hers and locking her chest against mine. I laced my legs around her body, holding her knees down with my thighs to make certain she did not move. Wynne's magic suffused the room and she reached a glowing blue hand towards Salem's wound. Skin met skin and Salem shrieked again, her voice piercing my ears. Her head flew back against my shoulder, her eyes locked wide in agony.

 _You should be ashamed of yourself._ My thoughts chastised me. _Of_ _ **course**_ _she has thought of this…she knows what healing magic does to her. Every fight that she enters, every skirmish, every battle, she must know that she risks this pain at the end of it. If she incurs an injury, she faces this pain, and well she knows it. She truly…truly does comprehend…why else would she risk this._

" _Please_!" Salem shrieked, the cry of a desperate woman. _"Please, no more! Maker above…make…it…stop!"_

Her words shattered into incoherent cries, muttered pleas, until all of her strength was gone. She shuddered in my grasp, moaning softly. Her hair was drenched with sweat, and I expected to see tears in her eyes, but there were none. The blue glow faded from Wynne's hands faded and Salem sagged further into my arms, her eyes blank and flat with anguish. Still, when my gaze met hers, she offered me that small, soft, half-smile.

"The entry wound at least, is closed." Wynne informed me. "I had no wish to do anything more. The magic uses the strength of the one being healed, and she has so little left. Do not let her stand and walk again." Wynne warned me. "Her recovery will be long and arduous enough as it stands. Morrigan is hunting now, and Alistair found a mountain spring. We will have food and water enough to last, and she needs to rest."

"I will." Salem's voice cracked out and I stared at her in shock.

 _How is she still conscious? How can she manage such great physical pain?_

Unbidden, tears came to my eyes, and I did not understand them. I did not understand why I would weep for a woman I barely knew, whose kindness I did not believe, or trust. My heart, however, betrayed me, and a single tear slipped down my cheek. Wynne smiled at me, seeming to comprehend what I did not.

"There is no shame in commiserating with another's pain, my child." She rested a weathered hand on my shoulder. "It bespeaks compassion, and compassion is a great strength so often lacking in this world. Thank you for caring for Salem as you are."

"My conscience would not permit me to do nothing." I breathed, stroking Salem's hair away from her face, hurting for her as I saw her eyes still open, her jaw locked tight against the pain still ravaging her body.

"Come with me, please." Wynne asked, a soft smile on her face when she saw my reticence. "Only for a moment, I assure you."

I nodded and disentangled myself from Salem's body, easing her back down onto the pallet with as much care as I could. In spite of my gentleness, she hissed at the pressure lying down placed on the exit wound to her back. I feathered my hand over her forehead, easing the crease of discomfort on her brow, wishing she would sleep again.

Wynne rose and left the tent. I followed as she asked. Once we stepped outside, the elder woman stopped. She sighed, her breath shuddering out of her body. There was sorrow in her eyes when she looked at me again, a sorrow I did not understand.

"It appears that, even after all of my years, there are still difficult things I must learn." She spoke, soft. "I am not accustomed to my gifts bringing pain." She breathed deep, gathering her composure. She appeared visibly shaken by what she had witnessed…what she had done…what she was required to do. "And I have known my share of stubborn patients across the years, but Salem is…something else entirely."

I nodded my assent, in full agreement. I did not understand the woman who lay inside the tent, exhausted, in agony, and still willing to stand and move and harm herself further to prove me wrong…no. That had not been her intention. I knew, instinctively, that she did not wish to prove me wrong out of some sense of petulance and superiority. She was attempting…she wanted to…

 _She wants to show that she cares,_ I realized. _She wants_ _ **me**_ _to understand that she will not go back on her word. I did not believe her, but after what I witnessed her do…an inhuman feat of strength and persistence, I cannot doubt her again._

"She will not accept this from me." Wynne reached into her pocket and retrieved a small, glass vial. "I am hoping that, if you offer it to her, she will accept it. You have drawn her from her silence…hopefully, if it comes from your hand, she will accept relief from her pain."

I took the medicine from Wynne, recognizing the color of the liquid within. It was a potent medicine, brewed from powerful herbs. It was capable of transporting the body away from agony and speeding it into rest. Salem did not seem a woman who would willingly take leave of her senses, not even for her own health. I prayed that Wynne was right; that she would accept the medicine that would allow her to rest easy, and free from dreams.

"Thank you, Leliana." The mage whispered and, again, I found myself shocked.

 _I do not know how to respond to all of this gratitude. I have bled for others, willingly, out of love, and never received thanks for that. Now, I am asked to do the smallest of favors, and I am offered the thanks of kind hearts and strong souls. What is this time and place that I have come to? I fear I am being lured into some sort of trap…for among the race of men there are none truly good. None free from mistakes, treachery, and greed. I know that, given time, the altruism I see in these hearts will fade, and I will know their true faces. I must prepare for that day; remain ever vigilant and on my guard. I will not be made a fool of again. I will not needlessly suffer again. I am worth little…but I am worth that much._

Wynne departed as Morrigan returned, a brace of rabbits held in her hand. I prayed to the Maker that the meat would be somewhat edible when it was cooked, and returned to the tent and the injured warden within it. Salem lay as I'd left her, her body limp, drained of all strength. Her fingers twitched against the nearby blankets, and I saw her shivering once again.

I knelt down and lifted the blankets, tucking them around Salem's body. She shivered still beneath them, and my heart ached for her.

"Salem." I whispered her name and with slow, pained movements, she turned her eyes to mine. I uncorked the glass vial. "Please, take this." I begged, unable to see her still in such agony. "It will ease your pain and let you sleep."

"Thank you…but no." Her words held no force, no life. "If we are…attacked…I can't be…a hindrance." She bit off the final word, clenching her teeth and groaning as she shuddered.

"Just this once." I pleaded with her. "I swear, if anything happens, I will protect us. I will protect you."

"Won't…burden you…like that." She attempted defiance.

The tent flap moved and I glanced up, smiling as Burrow entered. He sniffed the air, yelped, and charged to Salem's side, skidding to a halt in front of her. He pressed his nose against her neck, rested his paw on her shoulder, and licked her face, whimpering as his eyes fell to the site of her injury. He lay down on his belly and crawled closer to her, chuffing and whimpering. Somehow, Salem managed to lift her hand and rest it on his worried brow. It hurt me that she did not even possess the strength to scratch him behind the ears.

"All right…Burrow." She murmured. "For…your sake." Her eyes opened and she looked at me. "I'll…drink it."

"Thank the Maker." I breathed.

I uncorked the vial, then cradled Salem's neck with my hand, lifting it. Even that small movement hurt her. She winced as her lips parted. As quick as I could, I tipped the medicine into her mouth, heartened as she swallowed. She grimaced and her eyes flared.

"Can I…water…please?" She gasped. "So…bitter."

I reached for the canteen and helped her drink, but she swallowed wrong and began coughing. I dropped the canteen and held her head steady, feeling useless as she coughed violently. Her paroxysm ended on a groan; she curled into herself and sobbed. I prayed for the medicine to take effect as I massaged her neck and temples, providing as much comfort as I could.

"Why did you do it, you insouciant wretch?" I asked, wanting to know why she would endure this, why she would go through this agony. She only endured this wound to protect one of us. "Why take the greatest danger upon yourself?"

Salem's eyes opened and I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw them glaze over, the sign of the medication taking hold. "For you." She answered, the simple words a blade to my unguarded heart. She remained silent a moment more and I became fearful. "For all of you."

Her eyes slipped closed in slumber and I felt drained. I prayed that she would sleep long, deep through the night, to recover from the horrific injury and its pain. I stretched out alongside her, craving rest myself, but wanting to remain near if she woke and had need of me.

My eyes lingered over the severe angles of Salem's features. Without the pain or the worry stamped upon them, she appeared young and at peace. I smiled, appreciating the austere beauty she possessed, wishing her sweet dreams and a peaceful night. I moved the slightest bit closer, remembering how cold she had been when I touched her, and not wanting for this injury to be made worse should she catch a chill and become sick.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to fall asleep, barely realizing when chilled, strong fingers interlaced through my own.


	14. Arrival at Redcliffe

_**Author's Note:** Hello, all. I know it has been a long time, and that I've been a terrible excuse for an author. Needless to say, 2016 has been a literal **hell** of a year, in a lot of ways. I've been struggling with a great deal of things, battling depression, and it has affected my ability and my drive to create. I can't promise anything, but I will try to be more efficient with my updates, because I love to write, and because I want to continue these stories. Thank you all so much for your patience and understanding, and for continuing to read and offer your thoughts on my work. I hope that this year is being kinder to you and yours than it has to me and mine, and I pray that all will become better over this holiday season, and the new year to follow. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Redcliffe Village**

 **Salem**

The ground beneath our feet changed, altering from soft, brown earth to the hard red clay that the arling was known for. Of all ridiculous things, I was grateful for the fact that it had not rained in the past few days. The red soil of the land changed to a mud that clung to one's boots and stained _everything_ when it rained. At least we did not have _that_ to contend with. The incessant bickering between Alistair and Morrigan, the increasing heat, and the fact that my wound from the road had not quite fully healed culminated in more than enough irritation.

Though she said nothing and would never let on, I knew that Wynne asked Leliana to shadow me. The senior enchanter, even in the cloistering atmosphere of the Circle, learned much in her years, and knew that her presence hovering at my side would be unwelcome. I did not appreciate hovering. Especially given the fact that the mage refused to complete the healing in the time frame that I desired. I understood that it required time for any grave injury, but they did not know the limits of the pain I could…and had…endured. Much as I did not wish to admit it, I knew that, should they all remain with me, they would learn.

 _It is only in the legends that swordsmen walk out of battle with hordes of enemies without a single scratch. Even the melee at the tournaments leaves men injured and bleeding…and some dead. To ask that someone emerge from battle without a scratch is unrealistic. And I am most certainly no hero of legend. I am the daughter of a noble, blessed in my current state for, unlike many others of my station, my father allowed me to learn the sword._

The silhouette of Redcliffe Castle loomed in the distance and my weary heart rejoiced. If we were received well, there would be a warm bath and decent meal in store for us, who had not known such a luxury in weeks. At worst, we could pool together our gold and have a roof over our heads and walls that kept out the wind. And _something_ passing for decent fare. We could only survive on dried meat for so long.

Burrow yipped and ran a little forward of the group as new scents reached his keen nose. It did not take long before I, too, smelled what had caught his attention, and it was not simply the aroma of a township. I smelled tar, oil, and smoke. Steel and blood lit the air as well. Something was not right here. Burrow sensed it as well, stopping from a dead run to a grinding halt.

"Your eyes have that look in them again." Leliana whispered and I flinched. I had not even noticed her walk closer to me. "The look before you ran into an ambush. Please tell me you will do no such thing again. You are still not well enough for combat."

"We might not have a choice." I replied. "Something is not right here."

"I am very much beginning to dislike it when you say that."

Leliana pulled her bow from her back and carried it in her hand. Most other archers would have taken an arrow from their quiver as well, but Leliana needed no such preparation. She was the swiftest with the bow I had ever seen, and I wondered, not for the first time, where the demure Chantry sister with a love for the old legends acquired such a skill. Those questions would wait, however. For now, we were at the bridge that began the road to Redcliffe, and I was staring down the head of a drawn arrow.

Leliana's hand wrapped around my forearm, and I noticed the subtle step she took in front of me. Inwardly, I sighed. This was not her place, nor anything I would _ever_ ask of her. I bore the tainted blood of a Grey Warden. They had joined with _me_ to fight the Archdemon. Each and every one of their lives was in my care. It was I who was meant to be _their_ shield, and I would never allow that to change.

"It is all right, Leliana." I rested my hand over hers, remembering the softness of her skin from the few times we had touched, and wishing that my hands were not gloved. "With the sun as it is, this sentry cannot see our faces. Let me speak with him."

"You're still…"

"I _know_." I growled, removing my arm from her grasp as gently as I could and strode forward to greet the sentry.

"Halt!" He shouted. "Who goes there!?"

"I am Salem Cousland of Highever." I announced myself, expecting to need to say more when the sentry's bow fell away.

"Cousland!?" He shouted. "Then our pleas for aid have been heard at last! Please, milady, you must come to the village! We are in dire need of your assistance."

"What has happened here?" Alistair appeared at my side. "It smells like battle and blood. It smells like…" His eyes met mine and I saw in their dark color the horror of the name, the sole time this poor man had ever scented true battle.

 _Ostagar. It smells like Ostagar._

"Follow me and I will tell you what I can." The sentry responded, whispering orders to a fellow in the shadow and beginning to guide us down the long, meandering path to the village. "But Bann Teagan will be able to tell you more. He is the one in command."

Even in the hues of sunset, I could see Alistair's features pale. "Has something happened to Arl Eamon?" He asked. "Is he…"

The sentry shook his head, and the tension in my warden-brother grew almost tangible. "The arl took ill not so long ago, but we've no word beyond that, ser. As I said, it is beyond my ken, but our bann will be able to tell you more. He is in the Chantry, where we have set up a headquarters and infirmary of sorts."

"I am a skilled healer with the Circle of Magi." Wynne spoke. "I will be more than pleased to provide my assistance to the wounded."

It did not take the eye of an eagle to see that there was need for a healer. The road to the village was littered with corpses, only…only few of them were human. The stench of decaying flesh hung in the air, but the largesse of the bodies littering the ground were already skeletal. It made little sense, and I feared that we would fare little better here than we had fared at the Circle Tower. The entire country was crumbling from its zenith to foundation.

"Much like the elven forest, this place reeks of death and magic." Morrigan broke the silence and the sentry flinched.

"What sort of magic?" I asked, sensing that our witch would know more than Bann Teagan about the truth of the corpses littering the road.

"It is still too soon to tell." Morrigan sniffed. "But it reeks vaguely of necromancy. In fact, I would wager that much of the dead that lie here were once brothers in arms."

"Milady Cousland…" The sentry's voice shivered, "…how does she know such things? What company have you taken on?"

"There is a lengthy tale to tell, but now is not the time." I replied and the man was content, for mine was the reply of nobles.

Redcliffe's Chantry came into view and I felt fingers thread through my own, Leliana's hand squeezing mine tightly. Her deep blue eyes looked into mine and they were filled with an anxious concern I knew all too well. It lived in my mother's eyes…when I fell from a tree and broke my arm, when I found myself trampled and half-gored by a boar on a hunt, when I became ill with Dane Fever, and, the last time, when one of Howe's swordsmen scored my side.

"Salem." She spoke my name so low that the sentry did not hear her break what he would perceive to be protocol. "Salem, if this comes to fighting, please, I beg of you, stay with the rear guard."

I did not answer as, at that moment, a russet-haired man I knew all too well emerged from the Chantry doors. However, Leliana's words did bring a question to mind.

 _Why, Leliana? Why is it that you seem to care so very much? I have been a cold, dispassionate leader. Whatever is it that causes you to show what appears to be personal concern, unrelated to the warden's mission?_

"Bann Teagan!" The sentry shouted, drawing the man's attention to us, and my mind away from my questions. I smiled as I saw the familiar features. Teagan had grown out his beard, and it suited his face. "Bann Teagan, our prayers have been answered! Our relief is here!"

Teagan's brows furrowed as he surveyed the small, eclectic group before him. "I do not understand." He murmured. "I asked for a battalion of soldiers and I receive only six, one of them an old woman?"

"Do not underestimate the aged, Teagan." I spoke to him, moving into the light of the wall sconces. "I do believe there has been something of a misunderstanding. We are not the relief you asked for, but if there is trouble here, we will lend whatever aid we may."

Teagan stepped closer, his lips turning down at the corners. "No mere soldier would address a Bann by first name. I know your voice, but it is distant in my memory."

"I would wager it was from a hunting expedition in Highever, prior to the Great Tourney, several years ago." I reminded him. "You might remember me as the woman who slaughtered the wild boar we supped on that night."

The bann's eyes flared with recognition. "The woman who slaughtered the boar after her horse threw her, trod on her, and after she had half of the monster's tusk impaled in her thigh?" He asked and I nodded. "Salem?" He spoke my name with an edge of disbelief in his voice. I nodded once again. "Salem Cousland? But we were…there were…there was word sent throughout the bannorn that all the Couslands perished after Howe's men discovered their treason."

"You knew my father well, Teagan." I murmured, a wash of pain spearing through me as I remembered the agony in my father's eyes as he lay wounded on the floor; my mother's anguished scream as three arrows ripped through her breast. "Do you truly believe that he would betray the crown?"

Teagan's shoulders slumped. "No." He replied at last, hanging his head. "If you have come seeking shelter from those who would harm you, Lady Cousland, I am afraid we cannot provide it."

I shook my head. "I ask for nothing of the sort, Teagan." I replied. "Fate and chance have seen me a Grey Warden. I am here to beg help from your brother against the darkspawn threat. However, it would appear that none can be rendered. Tell me, what has happened here?"

A blur of movement pushed me aside and Alistair stood before the bann, his features taut with worry. "The sentry informed us that Eamon has fallen ill? How is he? Might we see him? Speak to him?"

Teagan looked from me to Alistair, his confusion etched in his eyes. "Is that…" He stepped closer and scrutinized my warden brother. "Alistair?" He asked at last. "Eamon mentioned that you had left the templars but…a Grey Warden…"

"Eamon received my letters?" Alistair asked, and I heard Morrigan muttering something about her awe that the buffoon could do more than scrawl an 'x' on parchment. I ignored her. "I am surprised that Isolde did not destroy them. She always hated me. Regardless, where is Eamon? Is he here?"

Teagan's eyes filled with sorrow, an expression and emotion I was now entirely too well-acquainted with. "There has been no word from my brother." He informed us. "Eamon fell ill last week. Word came to me in Gherlen's Pass, where I was investigating reports of a darkspawn attack. I returned here as quickly as I could to find the city in shambles and my people terrified. None have been able to reach the castle and every night, as the sun sets, there have been…" Teagan shuddered, "…the animated dead spill out of the castle and attack the village."

"So Isolde, Connor, Eamon?" Alistair asked and I saw terror on his face. He told me that Eamon had been a father to him until he married a much younger Orlesian noblewoman, who banned him from the household. In order to spare his marriage, Eamon sent Alistair away to the Chantry to become a templar.

"We do not know if they are living or dead." Teagan confessed. "With the horrors I have seen…I fear the worst. I came with many knights from the Pass, but many of them lie injured and unable to fight. Those that are still capable of battle are on the edge of exhausted collapse."

"Teagan, my companion that you so grievously underestimated is Wynne, senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi." I broke my way back into the conversation. "With an apology, I am certain she would be happy to tend to your knights."

Teagan bowed to Wynne, proper abashment on his features. "I do apologize, my lady. I spoke wrongly to you under the strain of the circumstances, and quite forgot myself. If you would be so kind as to render aid to my men, I would be grateful."

"Lead and I will go." Wynne answered, gracious as I knew she would be.

Perhaps I had overstepped in calling Teagan out on his behavior and forcing him to apologize, but I would not feel guilty for it. I would not abide a member of the Ferelden nobility speaking ill of someone they did not know to that person's face, strain and circumstances notwithstanding. I remembered a moment when my father had dismissed me and I cursed at him. My brother had taken me aside that day and spoke words to me I would never forget.

 ** _Never_** _do such a thing again, sister. If you remember anything, remember this. Every single human heart and mind is_ _ **always**_ _fighting a battle. Be kind always, Salem, no matter the battles you yourself are fighting. When he is in a better state of mind, you_ _ **will**_ _apologize to father, and I will not hear of an incident like this again or I will thrash your hide. Am I understood?_

My heart felt torn asunder as I remembered those words, the severity of the expression on my brother's face. I remembered him laughing, calling my name, taunting me in the sparring yard, offering encouragement and advice as I trained with the sword. My knees trembled, my hands quavered, and my lungs refused to take in air. The smell of battle in Redcliffe brought back the stench of the sacking of Highever and I almost gagged.

"Salem?" Leliana's voice rang at my ear again, soft and concerned. "Are you all right?"

 _No, Leliana. I do not think I shall ever be "all right" again._

"Fine." I murmured. "We should find the leader of Teagan's knights and see where we could be most helpful."

"On that matter, Salem," Leliana whispered, and I felt a storm within her words, "I would like to speak with you. Privately."


	15. Not a Matter of Honor

**Attempting to Understand**

 **Leliana**

I led Salem to a secluded area behind the Chantry and surveyed the nearby area, making certain that no one was near enough to hear us. Still, I went further into the dark, so that our words would not echo off of the stone walls and relay a private conversation to whomever might be listening. I turned, able to see Salem by the dim glow of the setting sun. I watched the muscles in Salem's neck tense as her throat tightened, and I feared she was angry with me; that she might know already what I intended to speak to her about.

 _But I cannot keep my silence in this matter,_ I reasoned with myself. _She is still not completely well, and if Teagan's words are true, if this town will come under attack tonight, I need to know that she will keep herself safe. I cannot risk…_ _ **we**_ _cannot risk losing her again._

"The sun will truly set in half a candlemark." I stated, watching the tension in Salem's neck increase as my words grated on her. I was correct. She knew already my intent in drawing her aside. "If this village is attacked yet again, what will you do?"

"Why do you waste time with questions to which you already know the answer?" She questioned me in return, and I inwardly sighed from frustration. I had known many stubborn people over the course of my life, but I felt that Salem Cousland would outdo the lot of them in the trait. "I should hope that our month in each other's company has revealed me to be a blunt woman…"

"When you deign to speak at all." I interrupted, thinking of that month, the first fortnight of it with Salem all but silent, speaking only when necessary, and avoiding any conversation but orders in battle and what words were necessary when speaking to others along the way. "A reason I asked to speak with you in private. I have no wish to create the appearance of my demeaning your command before the others by asking a question of importance." Salem's brow creased, and I amended my words. "A question of personal importance. To me."

"You already know the answer, Leliana." She said, and I shivered at the cadence of my name from her lips in her dark, dusky voice. I reigned myself in…now was not the time to indulge such strange…sensation. "I will be at the forefront, fighting."

She was right. I _had_ known the answer, but hearing it from her did nothing but deepen my frustration and, if I were to be truly honest with myself, my anger. I knew, from what transpired at the campsite after her injury, that Salem understood the risks that she took. Now, her understanding of them was not enough. She needed to come to her sense and realize that she was _vital_ to Ferelden…to _Thedas_. Understanding the risks and their consequences meant _nothing_ if she did not do all she could to _mitigate_ what might happen. And I needed to know more than what she did or did not understand. I needed to know…I needed to know…

"Why?" I asked.

Salem sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, a habit I noticed she indulged in more and more frequently, often accompanied by a crease between her brows and a pained inhale.

"Because it is my place to do so." She answered, and it made no sense to me.

 _These people owe her nothing. She is no longer a noble, she foreswore all titles when she joined the Grey Wardens. And it is a warden's place to destroy_ _ **darkspawn**_ _and_ _ **nothing**_ _more. And we have no warden contracts for this kingdom. Eamon, should he be alive, is under no obligation to help us…it is too great a risk._

"Your place as a Grey Warden?" I challenged her, raising an eyebrow, scrutinizing the minute expressions that crossed her features, the way in which she held herself, attempting to find some difference in the truth of her body and the truth of her words. "Because I know the history of Thedas, Salem, and it is a Grey Warden's place to stand between the people and the darkspawn, not whatever wretched, undead horror this castle is spewing. Why do you believe that leading in this charge is your place?"

"I am Salem Cousland." The reply came and I wanted to scream in frustration.

"That is _no_ manner of answer." I spoke, allowing my tone to carry a warning. I did not want to be trifled with, toyed with. I did not want my words and concerns to be made light of. Her life was important to me…to the _mission_ , and it was high time she began treating it as such.

"It would be if you knew as much of Ferelden's history as you know of Thedas'." Salem's voice was low, measured, and I could see her past and its pain glimmering in her silver-blue eyes. "If you knew anything of my family."

"I do not." I admitted my shortcomings. Marjolaine insisted on my learning the vagaries of every noble family from every country…every country that mattered. My education on the nobles of Ferelden was limited to the royal family alone. The dog-lord's land was unimportant to The Game. It meant nothing because those who ruled it could offer nothing…or so I thought at the time. "But I would learn, Salem."

"The stories you have told me," Salem spoke, "reveal that you know something of nobility, a great deal of it about the Orlesian court, if I am not mistaken."

 _How observant you are_ , I thought, chastising myself. _And how carless I have been. I must guard my tongue. I am accustomed to my words being unremembered, but Salem…Salem listens and remembers. I cannot allow my own words to dig my grave, for if this honest, upright woman discovers what I was, and what I have done…she will not let such a menace free in her country._

"Yes." My voice quavered even over the single word, and I prayed she did not notice.

Salem's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Then you are familiar with the whims and chicaneries of that lot and their infernal Game. And you are more than likely aware that many titled persons, including the nobles of _this_ country, attempt to mimic Orlais in hopes that their horrific imitation will somehow bring them the wealth and power of those ruling that country."

"That is…a grievously accurate assessment." I nodded, remembering the flagrant, flamboyant foreign dignitaries that would come to court, every last gold sovereign spent to bow to whatever fashion plagued Orlais at the time.

 _Marjolaine and I would mock their pathetic attempts to emulate the wealth they saw, desired, and envied. There are always subtle nuances to court fashions, secret languages hidden in ribbons, stitching, jewelry. We mocked the statements these fools unwittingly made…and the few nobles from Ferelden that we_ _ **did**_ _see we mocked even further, but never once did a Ferelden noble attempt to copy the current trend of the court. I quietly admired them for that, though I could never admit such a thing to Marjolaine…what a fool I was to think she could not read the emotion surely stamped on my features. It has always been my curse, and something that…something that I still desperately need to conquer. Lest it kill me again._

"Believe me when I tell you that _my_ ," She stated the possessive with pride, "family is…was… _nothing_ like them. In fact, we found the actions of those who capitulated to imagined pressures, in order to make themselves seem greater than they were, reprehensible."

"Can you explain further, please?" I asked, not wanting her to see my question as a challenge, but search for the truth that it was.

"My clothes were made of homespun linen from the fields of Highever." I could see agony spread across Salem's features, and knew that her words, words attached to memories, caused her great pain. I could also hear a shield in her voice, a defense against…against _me_. My questioning of her, my incessant need to _know_ what it was that drove her seemingly feckless, borderline suicidal actions. "My weapons were forged by the blacksmiths of our city, not imported from Antiva or Orlais. The ranks of the knights of Highever were not restricted to our vassal lords and their children. Anyone, _anyone_ in Highever, of noble blood or not, could ascend to knighthood if they chose to defend their homeland with their life. One of the bravest men I knew, who wore the rampant mabari, my family's crest, was the son of a swineherd. And not only were these men and women paid in gold, they were paid in _land_ , and titles that were signed over to them by my father when their contract of service was completed. It was _never_ taken from them either, even if they remained in the ranks for the minimum time. And when a Cousland fights, Leliana, we lead at the _front_. Because a man who will send another into danger in their stead is a _coward_ who _deserves_ to be cut down."

My eyes widened at the heat and the passion in her words…and the words themselves stirred something within my heart. There were myths, legends, ancient tales about those who ruled with altruism and honor. In the world that I knew, they were nothing more than stories of a different time and place, with better men and women than inhabited the Thedas I knew. However, there was no deceit, no lie in Salem's words and the pain she spoke through offered further veracity.

In this age, it was rare for a soldier of noble blood to lead from the front, but a few of Orlais' generals held that distinction. Ferelden, perhaps, was different. The late king and his teyrns had fought against Orlais; all of their steel had drawn blood. A younger me would not have cared, would not have given that history any credence. After all, drawing blood in battle was not what mattered to me, then. It was not glory. It was not gold. Not power. Not prestige. But a wiser me could now recognize that knowledge, that legacy, as something far more important. It was honorable to fight for your own cause, to draw blood for your own ideals, not simply delegate those who would follow you. And, if I knew anything of Salem Cousland, it was that she held honor above all.

 _But is your honor worth your life, Salem? Is it worth losing your life before the archdemon is vanquished?_

"And this is why you will disregard your health? Your safety?" I pressed further. "All to uphold a standard of honor tied to your name?"

"Say what you will, Leliana, you cannot cheapen what little legacy I have." Salem's voice was low, almost a growl, and I could feel a powerful anger in her, restrained by a heart stronger than its primal instincts. "If you want to impugn the last thing of my father, mother, and brother that I possess, my fucking _honor_ , then I suggest you leave my presence before you see a woman before you _without_ such a thing."

"Honor will not keep you safe in battle, Salem." I did not bow to her threat, though I felt its honesty and power. "You are _still_ weak! You cannot even bear the weight of your armor upon the wound!"

 _I am_ _ **afraid**_ _for you! I do not even understand the ferocity of my own emotions in this matter, but I know that I cannot_ _ **bear**_ _the thought of you hurt again…not so severely…not…not you…_

"I will manage." Salem's voice calmed, but the iron resolve remained. "But I will not let my people suffer. Not while I can stand in its way. These men and women are not knights, not even field soldiers. They are fighting for their _lives_. This country is ripping at the seams and you would have me hide and deny them hope because of a wound already healed?"

"Is it healed, Salem?" I hissed. "Is it?"

In a few, silent steps I stood before her, already regretting my actions. I curled my hand into a fist and placed it against the thick bandages over the wound. Before she could react, I applied a slight pressure. A strangled noise peeled from Salem's throat as her knees buckled and sent her to the ground. She glared up at me, her eyes fierce, burning with anger. I understood her anger, I _did_ , but she needed to _realize_ what she was doing. The truth of her condition.

"I do not think you are weak, Salem." I whispered, soft, gentle. "But you must consider your health and well-being in all of this. If such a little pressure can fell you, can you truly lead from the front?"

My point made, I turned away before I made her anger worse, before I infuriated her to the point that would earn me her perpetual silence and grudge. A few paces away, I felt a heavy hand rest on my shoulder. I could feel the power in her touch, it emanated from her energy with a ripple that quivered through my very _soul_.

"Listen _well_." Salem counseled, turning me until I could see the scathing, sparking truth in her eyes. "What I can or cannot do will _never_ be dictated by my health, but my spirit. These innocent people have been assailed every night for seven by things that they do not understand. They begged for deliverance and, by the Maker's twisted grace, we came. I can lose more blood, Leliana. I can endure more damage. What I cannot do is stand here holding the torch while the hopes of the innocent _burn_. Did you never beg for hope, Leliana?" She questioned me, the bladed edge of her inquiry reaching into my core. "Did you never find yourself in a dark night where even the tiniest spark, flickering for only an instant, would cast away every terror?"

I felt all of my blood drain from my face. I began shaking as the night beginning to surround us, the darkness, encroached on me. Every scar on my body caught fire at her words, forcing me to relive the torture, the agony, the sickness, the pain, the knowledge that every fought-for breath might be my last. I gasped for air and the challenging hand on my shoulder quickly became a supporting one against my waist.

"If you could be that spark for someone in that dark night, Leliana, would you do it?" She asked me, the heat in her voice replaced by concern.

"Y-y-yes." The answer stuttered out as I fought to regain control of myself.

"No matter what might happen to you?" Salem questioned me further.

"No matter the cost." I struggled for composure, managing to regain my feet, though I could still feel fine tremors wracking my body. My knees were watery still, and my heart raced behind my ribs.

"Then grant me that right also." She breathed, her words ghosting across my cheek, making me hyper aware of my proximity to her. I had not been this close to anyone in two years…anyone but Salem Cousland. I needed a moment alone, a span of time in which I could struggle to ascertain why her touch soothed me, when I could scarcely bear the thought of another's skin on mine, even now. "Grant me the right to show all of the weary, all of the fearful, all of the injured, that they are not alone. That others, even strangers, are willing to fight for them. This is not about the perseveration of my family's honor, Leliana. Loghain Mac Tir and Rendon Howe," She spat their names, "have seen to the destruction of that. This is about the preservation of the spirit."

"This kindness…this belief…this does not exist." I whispered because, for me, in the life I had lived, it simply…was not.

"It does, now, in this moment." A great cacophony ripped through the night and Salem tore her eyes from mine. I turned with her and looked to Redcliffe Castle, watching a cloud of dust appear and listening to the trampling footfall of the enemy. "And, in this moment, I must do what I must do."

"Without even your armor?" I heard the note in my voice, the begging, the plea, but it was too late to disguise it, or to conceal it. The cloud moved quickly across what was left of the visible horizon. The monsters would be upon the village soon.

"I cannot possibly wear that heavy plate." Her dark humor shone. "Not with my injuries."

 _Then I must be her armor_ , the resolve filled me and I honored it, even though I could not fathom its origin. _But she will have to realize, she will have to change, to alter what she does…perhaps this battle will prove that to her. If not…_

"This discussion is not over, Salem!" I called out to her as I followed her into the fray.

She stopped, looked back at me, and tossed me an insouciant grin. "As you say."


	16. Of Men Who are Monsters

**Redcliffe Chantry**

 **Salem**

I struggled to breathe, forcing my eyes to remain open, even though what I stared at was a grotesque mockery of what might have once been a face. The gaping skull leered at me, jagged bones that were difficult to cut through. Bleak mirth flitted through me as I thought of the darkspawn, and how much easier it was to kill an enemy that _bled_ …not one that required being hacked to pieces.

 _Get up._ My thoughts ordered me. _You are not done. You have to keep fighting. You have to move. Stand up, Salem. Stand. Up._

I gripped the hilts of my swords, using them to lever myself upward into a standing position. The sky greyed in the east and a roar went up from the fighters of Redcliffe, the cheer of victory as our undead enemy began breaking off their attacks and rushing back toward the castle. I struggled to speak, but my throat was so dry, and my body made of pain. I forced myself to shout over the din, to bring order to those who were not soldiers.

"Get the wounded into the Chantry!" I yelled above the roar. "Those with severe injuries are to be brought to Wynne of the Circle of Magi! Those with lesser wounds report to the Chantry sisters! Select a few of you to take the weapons and get them clean, the rest get food and water for the infirmary! Eat, drink, and rest while you can!"

The sounds of victory continued to echo in the morning air as the men and women of Redcliffe set to their tasks. A svelte shadow approached from the gloom, becoming Morrigan in the flare of the bonfire. As ever, the witch seemed no worse for wear, save for the sweat of battle and a few fresh cuts and bruises. She arched a supercilious eyebrow and shook her head as she looked at me, causing me to wonder how dreadful I looked after the night of battle.

"'Twould be best to cast these bones into the fire." She advised. "Whatever magic is bringing these creatures to life is deadly and dark and I would wager that the power bringing them forth can mend them as well. Should we face another night of this, 'tis more likely we shall know victory if fewer enemies can be crafted."

"Right you are." I nodded. Morrigan faded away and I struggled to breathe deep, to gather enough air. "Gather the bones and cast them into the fire!" I ordered. "Make certain the dead remain so!"

The effort of shouting left me winded and my knees threatened to give out. I gripped the hilts of my swords tighter, using them to shore myself up. The pain from my injury flared outward, consuming me as the fever and furor of combat faded away. A chill wind whispered through the city square and I shivered as the breeze turned my sweat-drenched shirt into ice.

 _Get control of yourself!_ I chastised. _You have to move, to make certain the others are uninjured, safe; that they drink and eat and rest! Move!_

I gritted my teeth and pulled my swords from the earth, swaying as I housed the blades in their sheathes. I sought my companions out in the crowd, relieved when I saw Alistair and Sten bearing the wounded into the Chantry. Morrigan walked from corpse to corpse, igniting them with a flick of her fingers and easing the burden of the beleaguered townspeople. I forced one foot in front of the other, moving slow, becoming aware of several bloodstained tears in my clothing. I ignored them. They would keep until I found Leliana.

My heart began to race when I did not see the tell-tale flash of red hair in the crowd. I strained my hearing to its limits, but did not hear the rising fall and lilt of an Orlesian accent. I forced myself to move faster, my eyes scanning the ground where the wounded lay, praying that she would not be among them. Her arrows had spared my life many times this night, and her twin blades protected the men and women of Redcliffe who fought for their lives with nothing to aid them but their desperation to preserve their homes and livelihoods.

"Leliana!" I lifted my voice once again, crying out her name, my worry nearing desperation when I received no answer. "Leliana!" I forced myself to run into the city proper, where the fighting had spread through the course of the night.

Bodies of the fallen lay in the streets, decorated with slick, congealed crimson pools. The shattered, dismembered bones of our enemies clattered against the cobblestones as I moved, kneeling beside the fallen, searching. None wore Leliana's face, but the smell of blood thickened in the back of my throat; each broken body in the misty grey of dawn began to look like her.

" _Leliana!_ " I screamed her name, running through the streets, my hands clenched into fists, my body shrieking at me to push it no further, but I could not slow. I could not stop. I could not be still. Not until everyone who had cast their lot with me was accounted for, safe and well.

 _I cannot lose her_ , the thought blindsided me and I could not even question it, for the truth behind its force would not be denied. Fog rose from the water, obscuring my vision further, and in the eerie silence, I knew. _She is beginning to mean something to you, Salem. Something beyond a mere companion, something more than another sword at your side. You cannot shy away from this truth, or attempt to hide it behind easier explanations._

"It is all right." My heart doubled its beat as I heard her voice through the fog. "You are safe, now, I promise."

I followed the sound of Leliana's words. It led me to a small shack before the water. Leliana stood in front of it, her palm on the door. I stopped, unable to move further, struck quiet by the vision before me. Her clothes were stained, her hair wind-blown and battle-tossed. Streaks of soot and smoke were streaked across her face. With her bow across her back and her daggers at her side, she looked like a fierce warrior goddess as the wind lifted her hair. Her outstretched hand was a beacon of hope, her words a promise of security and prosperity, and deep within my soul I began to ache at the vision.

I could not move.

I could not speak.

I could but stand, transfixed.

"Trust me." Leliana beseeched, and though the words were not meant for me, I listened and I _obeyed_.

 _I do trust her._ I realized. _I know almost nothing of her, but I have seen the pain in her eyes. I have witnessed the terror of her nightmares and I know that there is something within her that haunts, that dogs her steps and clouds her mind but…but I know the tenderness of her touch, the ferocity of her concern, and the breadth of her kindness._

"I'm afraid." A small voice spoke from behind the door. "I heard screaming. I smell smoke. I don't want to come out."

"I will keep you safe." Leliana promised. "Your mother and father asked me to find you. They are waiting for you in the Chantry."

A moment of silence passed, then I heard the clanking sound of a chain slipping free. The door opened and a young child of no more than nine summers emerged. His eyes were wide and wild with fear, his cheeks streaked with the remnants of tears, his lips ragged and chapped from being bitten in worry.

"Mum and Da are alive?" He asked, his small voice trembling on the wind. Leliana nodded, and the child shook his head, terrified. "Da'll yell at me." He gazed to Leliana and trembled. "I cried. Men aren't s'posed to cry but I…I was scared."

Leliana reached out and tousled his hair. Then she pulled a kerchief from beneath her bracer, knelt at the water's edge, and soaked the cloth. With a gentle touch, she wiped the evidence of tears away from the boy's cheeks.

"There is no shame in tears, little one." She whispered, calming him. "Because there is no shame in fearing for something that you love. Your father wept when you could not be found."

"Not Da." The boy shook his head again, adamant. "He never cries, not even when Mum lost the baby."

"Oh my poor thing." Leliana's heart echoed in her words, tender and pure and lovely. She cupped the boy's cheek and led his eyes to her own. "Do you know what tears are?" She asked, and the boy's bottom lip trembled.

"No."

"Then I shall tell you." Though I could not see it, I could hear the soft smile on her lips. "Our hearts are like this lake." She explained. "And when it rains, the water rises, no?" The boy nodded. "Well, when the water rises in the lake, it must go somewhere, so it escapes into the land. Our feelings, our emotions, are like rain, and our heart is the lake. And when our hearts become too full with the rain, the excess must go somewhere. That is why you _must_ cry, little one. Otherwise, your heart will drown and perish."

The boy's eyes brightened. "Da's heart isn't dead." He claimed, reassured. "'Cause he loves me an' Mum. So that means he has to cry, right?"

"Probably in secret." Leliana finished wiping away the child's tears and tucked her kerchief away. "Because it does not matter _where_ you cry, only that you _do_."

The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Then I'll cry in secret too." He claimed, puffing out his chest. "So no one'll ever know I'm scared when I need to be strong," He looked up to Leliana, beaming, "like you."

 _Yes._ I agreed. _Beautiful and strong. I do not know your demons, Leliana, but I know that you possess them. But you have given this boy the tools he will need to become a_ _ **good**_ _man, in spite of whatever haunts the shadows of your heart. I wonder, Leliana, how you still have tears to spare. Mine have dried up, and I am afraid I shall never know them again. The rain is gone from my heart, and I am a desert but when I look at you…when I look at you and listen to you…I swear I can see a storm, rich with rain, looming in the distance._

"Get your hand off of that boy!" An angry, malevolent shout echoed through the street and I looked up.

A man, perhaps my father's age, approached Leliana and the child. He held a bow at the ready, an arrow nocked, aimed at Leliana's heart. His eyes were glowing with wrath, his lips curled in a snarl revealing yellowing teeth.

"I said get back!" The man shouted again. "I won't have a Maker-damned piece of Orlesian _shit_ touching a true son of Ferelden! Now unhand him!"

"I am taking the boy to his family." Leliana stated, her hand guiding the child behind her. "No harm will come to him."

"You're damned right it won't." The man growled, jutting his chin at the boy. "Get to the Chantry, William." His grip on the arrow began to weaken; the bow trembled in his grasp. "Your mum and da need to see you."

The boy squeezed Leliana's hand and stepped in front of her, drawing himself to his full height. "Put the bow down, Alec." He said, his words strong, his young heart fierce. "I won't let you hurt her."

"This isn't your business, _boy_!" Alec snapped. "There's a war on, and _she's_ the enemy."

 _His arms are shaking worse, now. He cannot hold that arrow for long. I have seen this before._ I shuddered at the memory. _Ser Yanick, one of my father's knights, did this same thing to Lady Isolde when she and Eamon came to Highever. His mind was left broken by the war, and anyone from Orlais was the enemy. My father had to take Yanick's life to keep him from harming Isolde…they were as close as brothers. I have to stop this…I'm too far away to reach Leliana in time…perhaps too far from him, and I can barely move, but I have no choice._

"Go, William." Leliana squeezed the child's shoulder and I prepared myself. The moment the boy was out of harm's way, Alec _would_ shoot. I pulled my knife from my belt.

I began moving as William looked to Leliana for a last reassurance. She nodded and William darted down the street.

"Leliana, get down!" I shouted a warning and threw my blade, praying it would strike true.

I heard the snap-twang of a bowstring and twin cries of pain. My heart kicked in my chest and I threw myself at Alec. My injury screamed as I slammed Leliana's attacker to the ground. The pain held me still and redoubled as his fist rammed into the base of my breastbone, driving the air from my lungs. My lips parted but I could not breathe, my chest felt aflame and I could not move, paralyzed by the blow. Alec grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me off of him.

I rolled on the cobblestone streets and gasped, my lungs at last taking in air. It did not last. Alec rolled on top of me, pinning me to the ground. His fist smashed against my cheek, throwing my head to the side. My lip split and I tasted blood, the world tilted in front of my eyes.

"Grey Warden my _arse_!" He seethed. "You marched an Orlesian in here with you, king killer! Regicide and conspiracy!? That's the death penalty!"

He reached behind him and, with a sickening squelch, pulled my knife from where it had lodged against the bone of his shoulder. He grasped the hilt with both hands and held it aloft, preparing to drive it into my heart. I reached up and caught his forearms as he delivered the blow, stopping the knife just above my breast. He bore down, adding more of his body-weight. Sweat dripped from his brow onto my cheeks and my arms began shaking. I could not hold him off for much longer…I had one way out.

Using my last reserves of strength, I slammed my forehead into his own. The cracking sound reverberated and both of us cursed. He lurched forward and I attempted to pull away, but was not fast enough. The blade of my knife sliced through the underside of my upper arm, stinging the air with fresh blood. Alec shook his head, trying to clear it, and I took advantage.

I grasped the hilt of the knife and rammed it upwards, beneath the soft part of his chin, into his mouth. A wretched, gagging noise echoed over the water and I twisted the blade, levering his heavy body off of mine. Once free, I pulled the knife out and slit his throat, making a quick end of him. I sat there for a moment, simply breathing, attempting to calm my fluttering heart, staring at the stain of crimson spreading down my sleeve.

The world veered in and out of focus, but I could see what was most important, in this moment. A huddled figure in the fog, prone on the street.

 _Leliana_.

I slipped my knife back into its sheath and got to my feet. My head ached, the world twisted, and I crashed back to my knees, vomiting from the dizziness.

 _I have to get to her._

I retched again, bringing up nothing but bile.

 _She cried out_.

The remembered sound of the twanging bowstring replayed in my mind like a sick melody.

 _What if she's hurt?_

I could not risk standing again, but I could crawl. I had to get to her. Slow, I dragged myself towards her body, my lips and tongue forming her name, but I could not speak. My blood-slick hand skidded on the damp stone, abruptly reminding me of every sore, torn muscle. Still, I pushed through, and reached her side.


	17. Bearing the Wounded

**The Streets of Redcliffe**

 **Leliana**

The cold of the frigid cobblestone ate through the thin cloth of my shirt. Pain radiated through my stomach and chest, resounding with every beat of my heart. But I needed to move. I could not lie here and do nothing. I heard Salem's voice. She cried out to me in warning; she was _here_ , and she had been in no condition to fight even before the battle that raged the night through. She needed help, no matter that she insisted the opposite.

I pulled my arms beneath me, gathering the strength to rise, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and I smelled fresh blood.

"Leliana, do not move." Salem's voice sounded terrible, ragged and strained. "You've an arrow in your belly."

 _That would explain the pain._

"Pull it out." I told her.

"Are you mad!?"

"My armor caught it." I explained, grateful that, for once, the news was good. "It did not pierce me."

Salem's head dropped forward, her hair shielding her features. "Thank the Maker." She breathed. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"A few cuts and bruises." I murmured, reaching down and grasping the shaft of the arrow, its head stopped by the metal plates woven into my jack. I pulled it out, grimacing at the small bead of blood on the tip. A flesh wound, nothing more. "Nothing too serious. Did the boy make it away safely?"

"Yes." Salem nodded, but she did not make a move to stand, concerning me. "And Alec will trouble you no further."

I breathed deeper, wincing at the slight discomfort. The impact from the arrow would bruise, but nothing more. What did worry me was the fresh stain of blood on my shoulder, where Salem placed her hand. I pushed myself up, cursing the fog, and the sun that had not risen high enough to provide decent visibility. I could see Salem's hand, propped on her knee, blood dripping from her fingertips.

"Salem?" I asked, afraid to touch her, still unable to see in the grey of dawn.

"A soldier of Ferelden called me a traitor." Salem murmured, but her speech did not sound quite right. "But he was willing to kill you over an accent. After you saved a child of the city. This world has gone mad, and I fear I might go madder still."

"Salem, are you all right?"

"'M fine." Her voice slurred and her head listed lower still.

"Salem?" She did not answer. "Salem, you have blood dripping off your fingers. You are _not_ fine. Where are you hurt?"

When she said nothing, I moved in front of her and lifted her eyes to mine. Blood streamed down her chin from a ragged tear in her lip, and the skin of her cheek and forehead were darkened. The blows must have been hard for the bruise to show this quickly. Her eyes did not look quite right, either. Her gaze was faraway, almost glassy, and I did not know if she could even see me.

"Heavens, hells, and angels." I whispered. "You're concussed. When did this happen?"

 _How long has she been fighting with a head injury? This could be bad, very bad indeed. I_ _ **knew**_ _she should have remained out of battle. Damn it to hell!_

Salem wafted a vague hand in the direction of what I now presumed to be Alec's corpse. I was not yet ready to face the fact that she had killed for me. A soldier of her own country…dead by her hand, in order to preserve my life. The hatred between Orlais and Ferelden ran deep. Salem's father stood on the front lines of that war; Salem had grown up during a time of war. Logic dictated that she doubt me for the same reason Alec had. Logic dictated that she hesitate, question, and doubt me during that moment. But she did not. She fought for me and sustained injury.

"I have to get you to Wynne." I told her, worried when she nodded. "But first, you're bleeding. Where are you hurt?"

"Arm."

I removed my hand and her head fell forward, worrying me further. That she was still conscious was a promising sign. It was keeping her so that was paramount. I followed the bloody cloth of her shirt to the wound, a deep slice in the softer flesh of her arm, still bleeding. I pulled my kerchief out again. I wrung the remaining water from it and tied it tightly around the wound. It would do for now, until I could get her back to the Chantry.

 _We_ _ **must**_ _do something about what is happening here._ I determined. _There is no way that Salem can survive another night of this. These new injuries are nothing pressing, but she is not fully recovered from the darkspawn ambush in the Brecilian Forest. She must be hurting._

"Salem, do you think you can walk?" I asked, moving to her uninjured side.

"I will have to." Her words scratched out of her throat. "I do not think you can carry me."

"You might be right, at that." I could not help the smile that crossed my lips.

 _I find it odd that I know she is being humorous, in her peculiar way. I have always appreciated the comedic arts, the jesters of the Orlesian courts, the snide wit and barbs of bards and nobles, but this dry, dark place in which Salem finds laughter. It is foreign to me but it is…charming, from her, as it would be from none other._

"On my count." I laced her good arm around my shoulders and prepared to stand.

"Be warned." Her split, swollen lip obscured her words. "I might…be ill again."

"That's all right." I soothed her. "Concussions are unpleasant. You can keep your eyes closed if you like. It sometimes helps with dizziness. Are you prepared?" She nodded. "One…two…three."

I helped Salem rise and she leaned on me heavily, unsteady on her feet. In the growing light I could see how very pale she was, and the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. The bruises had darkened further, dreadful blotches on her fair skin. She breathed in short, jerking gasps and her eyes were pinched shut. I truly did not know how she had the fortitude to rise, even with my aid.

"How am I still dizzy?" She leaned heavier against me.

"I imagine that some of it is due to blood loss." I began moving through the streets, measuring each step with care.

Salem's head listed to the side, her lank, sweat-soaked hair brushing my neck and shoulder. If she were to collapse, I did not know if I could move quickly enough to arrest her fall, and if she endured further injury…

 _No._ My mind rebelled against the idea. _No. I will not let her be hurt again. And she cannot afford to lose consciousness. Not until Wynne has assessed her. Head injuries are nothing to be trifled with._

"Talk to me, Salem." I encouraged her, desperate to keep her awake.

"I heard you." The split in her lip broke open afresh and I regretted asking her to speak, but it was necessary. "What you said…to the boy. You have…the soul of a poet." A rivulet of blood dripped down her chin. "And it is good…to instruct the young…of the necessity of emotion."

 _She overheard?_ Unbidden, a rush of blood heated my cheeks. _Morever, she…she believes that my words possess_ _ **merit**_ _? If Marjolaine heard a single sentence, she would have beaten me bloody._

"Can you…" Salem gasped, "…hold a moment? I need…need to rest."

"Of course." I stopped, worried.

 _This is a woman who stood and walked mere candlemarks after being run through. If she is asking to rest, then she is acknowledging her condition…I know this should comfort me, but all that it is doing is making me more afraid. Because it is so unlike her._

"I am sorry." Salem apologized, bewildering me. "I should have joined you, instead of only listening. Might have…been able…to stop Alec. You wouldn't have…been shot."

"I was not hurt, Salem." I attempted to reinforce the truth.

" _This_ time you weren't hurt." Salem growled out the words. "I should have gone…to you. but I was so tired…" Her eyelids fluttered, "…you were so beautiful."

Salem sagged against me and I had to adjust my footing to keep us both from falling. With my free hand, I reached up and tapped her un-bruised cheek. Her eyes opened and I ached at the pain and weariness I saw in them. She had suffered enough this night without having to endure a beating for my sake.

 _You were so beautiful…_ Her words pierced me like an arrow, and I shuddered, deep within myself. _Surely I did not hear her properly…no. Of course she misspoke. She is in great pain, with a head injury. I_ _ **must**_ _get her to the Chantry. She needs to rest._

"Stay with me, Salem." I urged her. "We have to keep moving. You need a healer."

She nodded and tightened her grip about my shoulders. Her brow creased in pain and she gasped as we began walking again. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from speaking my fears aloud. My fears that we would face another night of this, that Salem would somehow insist on fighting again, and if she did…if she did then she would surely perish.

 _First, she took the arrows at Ishal, and was still suffering from the wounds when she arrived in Lothering. Even so, she fought like fury in the tavern, and against the bandits and wolves preying on the village. She has always been cut and bruised in some fashion until the ambush…and now, suffering from that, she continues to fight._

The town square came into view and I breathed a sigh of relief. The men and women of the village bustled about, doing all they could to prepare for nightfall so that they might snatch a few hours of sleep before a revisitation from hell. I smiled as I saw William by the fire, wrapped in his parent's embraces. His mother wept tears of joy.

 _Thank you, my Maker, for seeing this family kept safe, and made whole once again._

"You did that." Salem rasped. "That boy might never have left his hiding place if you had not reassured him. This tale might have had…a much worse ending."

"I am…glad of it." I whispered, but my traitorous memories clouded my joy.

 _I would have given anything for such a reception upon return from danger. To be held as someone beloved, as someone of value, cherished and desired by another's heart. Now…I have so many years before me, with no hope of ever experiencing such a moment. All of my worth has been stolen, and none shall weep when I perish, and never shall my being bring joy to any heart. There is no love for a broken thing. William said he wanted to be strong…like me. But I have no strength. I am still a pretender in all things._

A low, pained groan banished my thoughts. Salem moved her injured arm, covering the wound from the darkspawn's sword with her hand. The muscles of her jaw clenched and sweat dripped from the bridge of her nose.

"Salem?" I pulled her tighter against me. "The Chantry is not far. A bit further, and you can rest."

"Dizzy." She croaked.

"I know." It physically hurt me to see her in such pain, pain partly incurred by defending me. "Just a few more steps. Lean on me."

She shifted her weight, leaning heavily on me as we walked through the city square. Bann Teagan and Alistair were disseminating orders; Sten working on building barricades in preparation. Morrigan stood by the well, pulling buckets of water up to quench the thirst of the fighters. All of them continually seemed to find a place, a purpose…all of them, save for me.

 _Unless my place is to be at Salem's side, aiding her in this massive undertaking._

We reached the stairs and Salem swayed. I took more of her might and helped her up the stairs, at last making it through the doors. A sister, ordered to triage, desperately looked around the chaos to find a place for Salem. I cleared my throat and pulled her attention to me.

"Please, sister, we require privacy." I spoke, low, unashamed of bending the truth. "Her wounds are deep. They require intensive and intrusive care. There are children here whose eyes need not be scarred…"

"Through here." The sister opened a door and ushered us into a short hallway. "Take my room. I'll send the mage to help her. There should be a pitcher of water and rolls of bandaging on the dresser."

"Thank you, sister." I aided Salem into the room.

We made it to the bed just as her legs gave out. I guided her fall and managed to help her lie down before lifting her head and tucking a pillow beneath it. Sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating her condition…I almost wished it was still dark.

She looked terrible. Where her face was not bruised, the skin was ashen and sweat-sheened. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused; her breathing short and shallow. The white kerchief I'd tied around her arm was soaked red, and her hand still protectively covered her older wound. I reached out and felt her forehead, wincing at the chill of her skin. In the light of the sun, her lips appeared to have a bluish tinge and my heart raced. I reached for her hand and lifted it to the light, checking the beds of her fingernails for the same dusky hue, relieved to see that they remained a normal color.

 _Still, it is a small thing. She might still go into shock and, in that case, I dare not give her anything to drink. Not until Wynne examines her._

I walked to the bureau and poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, soaking one of the rolls of cloth and returning to Salem. With great care, I began to clean the blood from her face, hoping that the chill of the water would provide some relief from the swelling and the ache of the bruised skin and split lip. Salem moaned softly in discomfort as my ministrations jarred her split lip, and I stroked my free hand through her hair, attempting to provide what comfort I could.

"Are you hurt anywhere else, Salem?" I asked, dreading the answer, terrified even more by the blank expression on her face, and her protracted silence. "Salem, stay awake." I cupped her cheek with my hand. "You cannot sleep, yet. Not until Wynne has seen to you."

Salem lifted her hand before placing it back over her injury. "Hurts." She winced. "Badly."

 _You poor thing. Fighting through the night while already suffering. You must feel terrible, and though you might never believe me, I understand. I truly do._

"Let me look." I guided her hand away and lifted her shirt.

The skin surrounding the wound was stained violet. It looked bruised and swollen, and I was afraid. Afraid that Wynne had been overly cautious; that Salem had been correct when she asked the mage to mend the wound in full, no matter the pain. Much as I did not wish to see Salem endure that manner of torture once more, she could not go through this again. She could not be asked to fight in this condition another time, and I could see it in her eyes. She would _always_ fight. For her people, her land, her beliefs and ideals…she would never lay down her sword and I knew…I _knew_ …

 _This woman is…she is a_ _ **good**_ _woman. I did not think that such a thing existed any longer. I still know so little of her, and every heart possesses its dark places, but I have known many nobles and many soldiers. Fighting while wounded was always out of the question; especially in the case of commanding officers. I fully believe that Salem would go mad if she were not permitted to go into battle with the rest of us._

The door opened behind us and Wynne entered the room. The apron she wore was bloodstained and dirty, her eyes were weary, but filled with an exhausted joy.

"How…did we fare?" Salem broke the silence and the mage smiled.

"Not a single loss of life." Wynne replied with good news, and I rejoiced. "And all of our own are well."

"Thank you." Salem murmured, and I rose from the bed.

"Wynne, might I have a moment?" The elder woman nodded and followed me into the hallways. I turned to her and sighed. "You must do as she asks, Wynne." I spoke, low. "Salem fought through the night without rest. She has a concussion and…and her older injury might be bleeding internally. She is showing some signs of shock."

Wynne pursed her lips. "There is simply too much risk." She shook her head, her brow creasing in frustration. "Until we can understand why healing magic affects her in such a way, it is dangerous…"

"More dangerous than her throwing herself into battle half-dead?" I argued. "This night was proof enough for me." I continued. "Salem will not withdraw from the front lines, and if she fights again, in this state, she will…she will…" My throat tightened at the very thought.

Wynne breathed deep, meditating on the situation, on what we must do. After a pause, she spoke. "You are right, of course. I must confess, I am out of my depth here. But you are correct, Leliana. If Salem refuses to protect herself, then it falls to us to keep her safe. I will tend to her. You look tired, my dear. You should rest while you may."

"I should be with Salem."

"You are a kind woman, Leliana." Wynne rested her hand on my shoulder. "But I have seen how this affects you, and tonight has been trying for us all, without you subjecting yourself to enduring this. Go and rest. Healer's orders."

Before I could form a rebuttal, Wynne entered the room and locked the door behind her. I rested my hand on the door, knowing that I could pick the lock with ease, but unable to deny that Wynne was correct. Since Val Royeaux, it troubled my spirit to be in a sickroom. The smell of herbs, the stench of blood, the moans and gasps and cries all dragged me backwards into the past, into the dungeons and, beyond that, into to the Chantry clinic where I made my recovery. The sight of riven skin brought back the pain of my wounds and the memory of what made them, each and every time. But to say so and to shy away from such things would raise questions that I could not afford to answer, and I possessed enough knowledge of healing to be more of a help to Wynne than a hindrance.

 _I am sorry, Salem._ I regretted my cowardice.

Harsh, ragged cries of agony pierced through the door and my hand clenched into a fist. She took a beating for my sake; she had saved Morrigan and taken a blade through her body as punishment. I knew that she cared for us, that we were not disposable soldiers, and to hear her in abject _torment_ was too much to bear. She was a good woman and it _destroyed_ me to listen to the good made to suffer.

Tears sprang to my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as I sagged against the door. I slid down it and crumpled on the ground, listening to Salem's screams of pain. I did not know if I would be able to meet her gaze, on the morrow. The tensions of the war still ran high, and my presence had caused Salem to be hurt in my defense. Such a thing might happen again and I did not know…I did not know…

 _She sat up through the night with me, bruised and battered, in pain, to comfort me through the storm. She lit a candle in the dark. She believed me when I spoke of my vision._

A wail of anguish splintered through my ears and I shivered. My heart, wearied by the night, grew too full. I listened to Salem begging for relief, praying for the pain to cease, and more tears filled my eyes. They spilled down my face and I loathed myself for my weakness.

In this moment, if she saw my tears, Marjolaine would have struck me and rebuked me. But Salem…if her words were true…found me beautiful.


	18. Opening a Door

**Redcliffe Chantry**

 **Salem**

A tender touch rested on my cheek, warm, callused skin. A fingertip trailed across my cheekbone in a soothing motion. My eyelids twitched, but resisted opening. My body felt weighed down, heavy, exhaustion pulling me down into the mattress. My skin felt as though it had been massaged with powdered glass, my throat felt scalded, and my head roared with unmitigated fury. I shifted and my very bones burned.

"No no no." Leliana's soft, lilting accent greeted me. "Go back to sleep, Salem. You need to rest."

"How…long." I rasped; the words caught in my throat, and I began coughing.

Molten needles pierced my lungs, my throat tightened, and my arms refused to lift me up. Leliana wrapped her arm about my shoulders and helped me sit, rubbing my back until the spasm eased. She guided me back down onto the pillow, moving my tangled hair away from my face. She stood and moved to the dresser, pouring a cup of water from the pitcher there. She brought it to me and lifted my head, helping me drink. The water was blessed relief as it soothed down my throat.

"About four candlemarks." Leliana answered my inquiry. "It is still yet morning."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Have you slept?" I asked.

She nodded and I felt relief. "I managed to rest." She assured me, but her voice rasped, and even the dark circles beneath her eyes could not conceal their redness or swelling. Her rest, such as it may have been, lacked any restorative quality.

"You have been weeping." I whispered. "Is everything all right? Are you in pain?"

 _Was she more hurt than she let on?_ I wondered. _More concerned for my condition than her own? Should I call for Wynne…oh, Maker…what if her armor was not as effective against Alec's arrow as she said? I was too disoriented to press my inquiry…_ I moved to sit up, arrested by Leliana's hand on my shoulder.

"I swear I am well." She reassured me. "So, please, don't move. Wynne said that you should lie still for as long as possible."

I acquiesced, forcing my body to relax, my muscles shrieking as the tension in them eased. Leliana looked out of the window and I followed her gaze, wondering at the maelstrom I witnessed inside her eyes. I saw concern and relief, questions and calculations, but beyond all of that, there lay a sorrow that stirred within me questions of my own. Questions I did not have even the faintest notion of how or what to ask. But I knew that I must try.

"What is troubling you?" I asked, expecting further silence, or an answer of deflection, or a query to parry my own.

"My dreams were…unpleasant." Leliana murmured, her gaze still fixed to the sky. "Wynne said that when she used the full breadth of her magic, your pain was so great that your muscles locked in place before beginning to spasm. She thinks some of them might have torn and been re-mended, hurting you even further. I understand such agony, Salem, on a visceral level, and I wept…" With her confession, tears bloomed in her eyes afresh. "…I wept because I knew that you would rise again and fight again and face that pain again. I am a coward, Salem." She whispered. "I have known pain so encompassing and severe that I dread even the reminder of it. And I am ashamed," She sighed. "I am ashamed to stand beside someone so fearless, and claim that I am somehow…somehow _worthy_ of being there."

"Being afraid of pain does not make one a coward." I told her, for I needed to honor her tears and respect the trust of her vulnerability by offering my own. "If it does, then I am a coward also."

A disbelieving scoff echoed through the room. "If you were afraid of pain, you would not have gone into battle yesternight." She claimed.

"Neither would you." I smiled.

"I did not have a sword put through me less than a fortnight ago." She turned her eyes to mine, her gaze flashing and fierce.

"True." I said, keeping my tone neutral and tender. "But being in pain has never made me any less afraid of it. After all, how often does the presence of what we fear soothe or eradicate that fear?"

Her brow creased as her lips turned down at the corners. "Now, you are mocking me."

"Far from it." I shook my head and regretted it when the room spun around me. "I am simply attempting to tell you that you are not alone. And you are no coward. Please, Leliana, do not, within your mind, accord me strengths I do not possess. I remember enough of my healing to know that I screamed like a child and begged for it to cease, in spite of my rational mind knowing that the pain was for my benefit."

Leliana shuddered; I knew from the memory of hearing my screams. "I am afraid I am to blame for that." She worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I begged Wynne to hold nothing back…to use the spells I have witnessed pull the wounded back from the grave. I simply could not…" She dashed more tears from her eyes with a swipe of her hand, "…could not bear the thought of you fighting again…not as damaged as you were. It…it was not my place to ask that she do so, and you suffered because of it." A whisper of fear entered her eyes. "I am sorry to have been the cause of your suffering, and I understand if…if the taking of such a liberty merits punishment. I will endure it happily, so long as Wynne is spared."

The whisper of fear in her eyes became a shadow, deep and dark and much older than the time I had known her. Her words cut deep to the soul of me and wanted to know what I had done; why she believed that I would harm her for what she had done. In truth, I was grateful. The magic was brutal; I lost consciousness from the pain, but I already felt worlds better than I had even before the night's battle.

 _Who harmed you so, Leliana?_ I wondered as she sat before me, her shoulders hunched, her hands in her lap, her eyes downcast. _Who caused you to believe that caring for another, making a difficult decision they were in no fit state to make, merits_ _ **punishment?**_ _What torments have you endured that you sit before me, whose wounds you have helped mend, and fear that I might harm you because of such a fleeting thing as pain? Who could be so cruel as to mangle another's mind to this degree and how…how do I set about righting the wrong that has been done to her?_

"Leliana," I did not know if she would believe me, "I am not angry with you. Have I said anything…have I _done_ anything that would cause you to believe that I would… _punish_ you for caring for me?"

She huddled further into herself and shook her head. "No." She admitted. "You've done nothing."

I gritted my teeth and forced myself into a sitting position. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, facing her. I wanted to reach out, to make my words more real, truer with the connection of touch, but she looked so small, so fragile, that I could not bring myself to do so. During the storm, she was terrified of being touched, and that fear stemmed from something much more real and terrible than a dream.

"Has someone hurt you?" I asked, keeping my voice low. "Were you ever…punished…for caring for someone?"

I waited, and a thick, tense silence fell between us, held taut by the question as yet unanswered. Leliana's hands trembled in her lap and she laced them together, but it did not stop the tremors. I waited, patient. I did not intend to ask again, to do anything that might be seen as undo pressure, or a threat.

"I was." She replied at last.

"Was it one of us?" I asked the most pressing question. "Has anyone among our number…"

"Maker, no." Leliana shook her head. "You have all been most kind…perhaps with the exception of Morrigan."

I smiled. "Always with the exception of Morrigan." I attempted to lighten our spirits. "But I now feel the need to ask, Leliana…are you afraid of me?"

Leliana's trembling increased. "Yes." She admitted, her words like a blow to my heart. "But it is nothing you have encouraged, Salem. I am…I am damaged, scarred from another time and place…another life, really. That it is so easily seen must be troubling to you. I promise you, I will do better, and my own personal matters will cause you no more trouble. You _can_ trust me, I swear it."

My brow creased in confusion. "I do trust you." Her words puzzled me, worried me, but now was not the time to interrogate her, but to reassure her. "We all have our demons, and I will never condemn an embattled man or woman for attempting to conquer them. You have no need to be afraid of me, Leliana. All of you who have cast their lot with me…it is not your responsibility to make my life easier, and I hope you realize that. I do not believe that is what you agreed to do. You agreed to do all you could to aid in the stopping of the Blight. Maker's blood…Leliana, you _asked_ to join us, and I agreed. I do not _own_ you, and find the very notion sickening. I am _grateful_ to you, Leliana…perhaps for more than you know."

She lifted her head, and the tremors shaking her seemed to ease. Her tears seemed to have dried, but her ocean-blue eyes were a sea of confusion. "Whatever for?"

"For carrying me through the streets, tending to my injuries, and looking after me. I tremble to think of once more being subjected to Alistair's fretful bedside manner."

I received a small chuckle for my efforts, and Leliana's eyes brightened. I wanted to speak further, to ask more questions, but something stayed my words. Perhaps, it was the sheer exhaustion in Leliana's eyes, or the heavy burden I could see weighing on her shoulders. I knew that she possessed her own demons, every mortal did, but those hounding her were old, dark, and I felt that whatever wounds they had inflicted upon her were not yet closed. Her fear lay still so close to the surface, so present and real…I could not forget that night in the storm, when she did not recognize my face. When she begged me for mercy. No. It was not the time to press my inquiries. She might trust me with her truth, some day, but I could not press her for it, or I might be no better than whoever inflicted the wounds upon her soul and psyche.

"Have you eaten anything, Leliana?" I asked, drawing our conversation back towards the mundane.

"Yes." She nodded. "But you haven't, have you? I'll fetch you something; you need to keep up your strength."

She rose to her feet, jumping backwards as the door burst open, revealing Alistair. His wild eyes landed on me, and he smiled.

"Salem, you must come quickly." He blurted in between pants for air. "Lady Isolde has come from the castle. We might have a way in."


	19. Memories and Their Chains

**Redcliffe Windmill**

 **Leliana**

Salem, Alistair, Teagan, and the Lady Isolde stood on the hillside that housed the town's windmill. The four voices rose and fell, too distant for me to make out the words. At any other time, I would have drawn closer in an attempt to hear, but the distance from Salem was necessary, in this moment. Her words from earlier nestled beneath my skin, itching.

My rational mind told me that I revealed nothing incriminating, nothing that would reveal a past better left behind. But, in this moment, I needed a certain amount of separation, to clear my mind and organize my thoughts. I could not afford such a mistake again. If a few gentle words were all that was required to loosen my lips, to divulge my secrets, then I was not safe.

I believed in my vision with my whole heart; I was meant to be here, with the wardens. Even if I did not believe, Lothering had been overrun by darkspawn, and the Chantry razed. I could not return there, and I had nowhere else to go. Therefore, my past could never be revealed. Salem told me that she trusted me. That trust would perish in the space of a breath if Salem were ever to find out.

 _But she was correct._ I sighed. _I do have my demons, and I am afraid. Afraid that they will be found out, or that my nightmares will become all too real once more. Salem is kind, and good-hearted, but I have believed that of many others, and been proven so grievously wrong._

I shivered from the memory of a stormy night in the dungeon. The prisoner's chant had begun, and my cell door opened. I recognized the chevalier who entered. He was young, handsome, and who, with an eager, charming smile, had filled my dance card at the empress' last Yule Ball. My throat tightened as I remembered the desperate edge in my voice as I professed my innocence and begged him to show mercy. I offered him everything that I had; all of the wealth I'd secreted away, all knowledge I possessed of Marjolaine's empire of secrets, and…and my own body.

My gut twisted and my stomach churned at the horrific recollection. The chevalier listened to my tale, told me that he believed me, stroking my hair with a tender touch, wiping my tears away with a silk kerchief. I had wept with joy and relief, believing my ordeal to be over, thankful for the kind heart of a good man. The chevalier removed my chains, helped me to my feet, and began to lead me up from the dungeons. I cried out from the pain in my side, and he promised me a healer. I wept and I thanked him; I praised the Maker, grateful for my good fortune…but it was not to be.

When we reached the open area that led to the stairs, he changed. His smile became a sneer. He chained me to a pillar in the hall, and screamed in my ear of the evils of bribing a chevalier. He ripped off my shirt and pulled a cat o' nine tails from the wall. But before the flogging, he…he…he destroyed me. He ripped my soul from my body and shredded it, piece by piece, scream by scream, plea by plea.

I shook my head to clear it, finding it difficult to breathe, even in the open air. The smell of blood hovering in the atmosphere made it difficult to settle my mind elsewhere. There was simply too much that had transpired, too much eating into the recesses of my mind, pulling my nightmares and memories out of the black.

Salem's screams of pain from yesternight still rang out in my hearing. They were too similar to the cries of anguish that were the symphony of my fortnight in Val Royeaux. And, no matter what she told me, her agony _was_ my doing. Her torture was at my behest, and pain was not something anyone was _ever_ grateful for, no matter their words and reassurances therein.

I breathed deep and struggled to gather my composure. I needed to recuse myself, to put enough distance between Salem and myself that I could see beyond her silver-blue eyes. She had a reason to forge a bond with all of us, to ensure loyalty to the cause, secure us as allies for the battles ahead. I would not be blinded again. I knew what it was to care for another…and to be punished for that caring.

* * *

 _The door closes and I stand up, heart in my throat, anxiety quickening the beat of my heart. The young, elven apostate meets my eyes, and my heart plummets into my stomach. His eyes are not the eyes of those who bear good tidings. He says nothing; he will not until I speak, but my throat is tight and my mouth is dry. But the silence is too much, too oppressive, and I have to break it._

 _"Stitch?" I ask. "Stitch, what is it?"_

 _The young mage rakes his hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "It's not good, Lels." He tells me. "She's ill, not hurt, and there's fuck-all magic can do about that. I can't help her…hell, I don't even know what's wrong with her."_

 _I begin pacing back and forth across the room. "It's winter sickness, I think." I tell him. "She suffers from it every year, or so she says, and it's proven true since I have been with her. It's never been quite this bad, though. I am worried, Stitch."_

 _The mage nods. "You and me both, and with good reason." He admits. "If word gets out, then we're in a den of ravenous wolves. You can't lie to liars, Lels." He speaks one of the oldest bardic tenets. "Work like ours, you have to show face, and the winter social season begins soon. Balls and parties, unoccupied mansions…Marjolaine has to be prepared for it all. What you need is a physician."_

 _The word is unfamiliar to me. I stop my pacing and look up at him. "A what?"_

 _"I heard of it from one of my…lady friends." He winks at me. "They started something at the Chantry…people work there as healers, only they don't have magic. They study herbs and anatomy and the like. My lady friend told me a man came in with his leg torn open from a harvesting scythe. Infected real bad. Told me he walked out a week later, no infection, no fever…you know as well as I do that an infected wound is usually a death sentence."_

 _His words give me hope, but I shake my head. "If it's to do with the Chantry, Marjolaine will not go near it. It's too open, too vulnerable."_

 _Stitch purses his lips, but nods his agreement. "I know." He agrees. "But it's all I can think of. She's…she's in a bad way, Lels."_

 _"I know." I worry my lower lip with my teeth, desperate to do_ _ **something**_ _, but my hands are tied at every turn. "You should go, Stitch. I don't want you to fall ill as well. But…thank you…thank you for coming."_

 _"It's no trouble." The younger man flashes me a grin. "I'd do anything I could for Marjolaine. You know that. She broke me loose when the templars got me. If I could fix this, I would. Call if you need me again, Lels. You look run ragged yourself."_

 _He slips out into the night without a sound, and I slump onto a chair, biting my fingernails. Marjolaine will yell at me for the ragged edges if she sees them, but I would be grateful for the tongue-lashing. Stitch is right. My lover is very unwell, and it's worse for her than it has been any year previous. Marjolaine's winter sickness is most often a passing trifle, a few days of coughing, weakness, and fatigue, usually able to be treated with soothing teas and a hearty broth._

 _This time, it is different. Her coughing is harsh and heavy, her breath labored and harsh. She has not even been able to keep down broth…or tea. If she ceases being able to keep down water…no. Perish the thought. I rise from my seat and rub the grit from my eyes. The last two days have been difficult; I have not slept but perhaps two candlemarks of disjointed rest. I want so desperately to sleep, but the woman I love is suffering._

 _I shake off my fatigue and enter her bedroom. She sits, propped up with pillows to ease the pressure on her chest. Her wicked green eyes are tired and pained. My heart aches. I want so much to help her, but I know so little about healing. I can clean, stitch, and dress a wound, but that is the extent of my knowledge._

 _"You look tired, pretty thing." Marjolaine smiles, setting my world aright. "And worried too. Wipe that crease from your brow, my sweet. It will scar your lovely face."_

 _"How are you feeling, my love?" I ask, sitting on the edge of her bed._

 _Marjolaine groans, exasperated by the question, but before she can reply, a rattling cough shakes her. Her hand flies to her chest and I fly to her side, holding her steady, rubbing her back until the paroxysm passes. She rests in my arms, clinging to me, and I feel so necessary, so needed, so_ _ **vital**_ _. To someone who has been a waif, an orphan, an underfoot mouth to feed, there is nothing but joy in my spirit at the thought of_ _ **belonging**_ _, at last. Being_ _ **loved**_ _, at last._

 _"Careful, pretty thing." There is a note of ire in Marjolaine's voice. "You've told me everything and not spoken a word. How many times must I tell you that such a reaction at court can mean life or death?"_

 _"We are not at court." I retort, losing myself in my worry. "We are in your bedchamber, and you are running a fever, your breathing sounds wretched, and you can barely keep down water. I think I have a right to feel concerned."_

 _"You have the right to feel whatever you wish, darling." Marjolaine's voice is ice, and I know I have spoken amiss. "As long as it does not show on your_ _ **face**_ _. We have had this conversation too many times, Leliana."_

 _I breathe deep, suddenly afraid. It is rare that Marjolaine speaks my given name, and when she does, it is not often a good omen. I berate myself. She is ill and I have upset her, I have overstepped and she_ _ **is**_ _right. I do struggle with concealing my emotions and reactions, and it has made some of my simple taskings considerably more complex. She needs to care and to be calm. I want…I want to_ _ **aid**_ _her recovery, not slow it._

 _"I know, my love." I tell her, moving to the washroom for clean towels and a pitcher of water. I soaked one of the towels, wrung out the excess, and cleaned the sweat from her brow, worried by the flush staining her cheeks. "I will do better."_

 _"Every time, you say this, and_ _ **every**_ _time, it is a falsehood." Marjolaine accuses, her words a knife through my heart. "You are not the impressionable chit I first took under my wing. You are a_ _ **bard**_ _, and your name is held alongside my own, and as such, your failures are not merely inconvenient, they are_ _ **unacceptable.**_ _"_

 _Her words tear at the seams of my very soul, but it is not her fault. She is a wonderful teacher, and with some lessons I have been a less than astute pupil. Beyond that, she is unwell. It is her illness speaking, and now her fever._

 _"You're right, of course." I murmur. "But I_ _ **will**_ _do better. Now, you should try to rest. I'm going to step outside and gather some fresh snow, to cool your fever."_

 _Marjolaine closes her eyes, and I prepare for another weary night, and I am correct. Marjolaine's fever does not abate. It rises in spite of all of my efforts, and bucketfulls of snow. She is becoming too weak to cough, and the sips of water I have managed to help her swallow are vomited back up within minutes._

 _By the time the sun rises, Marjolaine is delirious and dehydrated. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused when they open, her lips are so dry that they are cracking. Something has to be done, and I know of only one solution, a physician, such as Stitch told me of. I could not take Marjolaine to the Chantry, but I can bring a physician to her. Somehow…but failure is not an option. I love Marjolaine, and I am willing to accept the risk._

* * *

The sound of raised voices pulled me from the vivid recollection, but not from the rest of the memory. The reason why I was afraid of Salem…the reason why it was so dangerous to care. I had gone to the Chantry as Stitch suggested, told one of the physicians of my plight, and he had followed me back.

With great care and expert knowledge, the man treated my lover, snatching her back from the brink of death. He left me packets of herbs, instructions for their use, and told me to seek him out again if Marjolaine's condition did not improve. However, my lover _did_ get well, and when she saw me mixing the herbs into a tea for her, she demanded to know what they were, and where they had come from.

When I'd told her, she became livid, incensed, possessed by rage. She cursed me and, when she tired of words, she used her fists. She beat me bloody and demanded a description of the physician who tended to her. When I did not answer, she kicked me where I lay, snapping one of my ribs. Then, she stormed out into the city, leaving me on the cold stone floor, drifting in and out of consciousness.

* * *

 _The door slams, jarring me into wretched awareness. My right eye manages to open fully; my left is swollen so badly that I can open it but halfway. I shiver from the chill of the floor and cry out as my battered body protest. A sharp hiss from the threshold warns me into silence. Marjolaine has beaten me before, but never to this extent. It has always just been bruises before, an occasional cut or split lip from one of her rings. But never before have I done something so risky; I have never brought a stranger into our home._

 _"Stop whimpering on the floor like a dog." Marjolaine orders. "You have broken ever tenet of our occupation, because you allowed your emotions to rule you."_

 _"I love you." I sob, curling into myself as my body throbs, every beat of my heart summoning a fresh wave of agony._

 _"I know you do." Her voice is gentle now, far and away from the vicious, scathing, furious tones that rang in my ears as she struck me. "But love must teach difficult lessons. You bought a stranger into my home. You compromised my safety on_ _ **trust**_ _that those herbs were what he claimed them to be. You keep telling me that you will do better, but all that you parade before me are failures upon failures. You have been properly chastised, yes?" She asks, and I nod as best I can. "Good. Now," A knife clatters onto the ground in front of me, "you must clean up the mess you have made, Leliana."_

 _"No! Please!" A man's voice implores, desperation personified. "Please, I'm a humble physician! I_ _ **help**_ _people!"_

 _My hand trembling, I reach out and wrap my fingers around the hilt of the knife. I move my eyes upward, seeing his kind eyes wild with terror and filled with tears. Marjolaine holds his arms behind his back with one hand. Her other hand presses a razor stiletto against his neck._

 _ **He saved her life,**_ _the still, quiet voice of my anemic conscience makes its presence known._ _ **He hasn't done anything wrong! He has no comprehension of who we are, who she is, and we would have been safe! I knew, even when I brought him here, that she would want him dead, but I thought…a life for a life…it seemed only fair.**_

 _"Every moment you hesitate is a step closer to a traitor's sentence." Marjolaine warns me. "No good deed goes unpunished, Leliana, and_ _ **I**_ _will no longer fix your mistakes. Repair this, now."_

 _I struggle to get to my feet, crashing down with a bitten-back groan. She had worked me over thoroughly, a proper chastising that I will remember until the end of my days. I try to push myself up once more, only to collapse again when the broken bone in my chest grates._

 _"Get. Up." Marjolaine's words are colder than the snow on the ground. "Do what must be done."_

 _I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, and push myself to my feet. I limp toward the physician. He begins to struggle, but my lover's knife against his neck presses deeper, and he stills._

 _"Please." He begs again. "Please, I beg you. I_ _ **helped**_ _you. I have a wife and two sons, Emile and Frederic. They'll be turned out onto the street; the winter will kill them…_ _ **please**_ _, milady, I beg you." He sags in Marjolaine's grasp, and sobs. "I_ _ **beg**_ _you."_

 _My heart is burning, pained with agony that transcends the physical. I do not want to do this. He does not deserve to die, but I cannot deliberate and I cannot argue. I cannot bear for Marjolaine to strike me again, for that look of disgust and disappointment to rest in her eyes. I cannot fail her. I love her with all my soul, and I know that she loves me, but that love will surely perish if I continue to make such grievous mistakes. How could it not?_

 _Desperate not to lose my one great love, I strike, whipping the blade across the physician's throat. Bright, red blood fountains forth, spattering my face, the walls, and the floor. Marjolaine drops him, the body drops onto the floor, and she catches me as I begin to sway. The snap of her fingers summons one of the servants, who takes one look at the dead man, nods to Marjolaine, and goes to gather what they will need to dispose of it._

 _Marjolaine pulls a kerchief from her sleeve and wipes the blood away from my face. "Not a touch of remorse." She smiles at me and my world is new. "And not a hint of trepidation. Well done, pretty thing." Her use of the endearment makes my spirit soar, and dulls the pain of my body. All is well within my world again. I have passed her test and fixed my mistakes._

 _Marjolaine laces my arm around her shoulders and wraps her other arm about my waist. With slow, gentle steps she guides me into her bedroom and eases me onto the mattress, removing my clothing and pressing a cold cloth over my swollen eye. Her eyes glimmer, soft in the candlelight as she appraises her vicious handiwork. Her countenance changes, her expression filling with something that might be pride. I ache as her lips graze against mine in a tender kiss._

 _"You deserve a reward." She smiles, razor sharp and wicked._

 _I breathe a sigh of relief, hoping that my battered body will receive rest, care, and relief from pain. Instead, Marjolaine removes her clothing, making a presentation of her beauty, stoking my lusts with visions, whispers, and kisses until I am ragged and raw with need and with pain. Beneath the blankets, I take short, agonizing breaths as I watch my lover torment, tease, and bring herself to climax. When she finishes, my blood is roaring in my ears, and the pain of my body forgotten. All I desire is to be touched, loved, and held as I sleep._

 _I hold myself still, trembling and needy, waiting for my promised reward. I gasp as Marjolaine's wicked, talented hand comes to rest over my sex, her fingers trailing through my warmth in slow, devastating sweeps. I remain quiet and still, to win this game and earn my prize. If I speak, if I move, if I beg, her hand will vanish, and I will be left with nothing. I close my eyes so that I will not look at her and break this moment. Her silken hair tickles my neck and I open my eyes to see her before me, glorious and powerful. Her lips graze my ear._

 _"A reminder, pretty thing." She whispers, soft, seductive, my entire world. "Your pain and pleasure belong to_ _ **me**_ _. They rest in my hands and it is_ _ **your**_ _actions, your successes or failures, that determine which hand reaches out. Sleep well, my darling."_

 _Her eyes flutter closed and she slips into slumber, her hand never moving. My body is in torment; I ache in every way that it is possible to ache. If I move, she will know. If I sate myself or rise to treat my wounds, she will know. I begin to weep, driven to it by the pain, the frustration, and my lover's sweet savagery._

 _ **I hurt, but I am blessed.**_ _I remind myself._ _ **I am blessed because I am loved, and by a strong, powerful, flawless woman. I will do better. I will never fail her again, so that my mistakes will stop hurting her by requiring her to punish me.**_

 _I close my eyes, doing all that I can to ignore the all-too-skilled hand resting where I need it most. Perhaps, when morning comes, she will take pity on me. It has been more than a month since Marjolaine fulfilled my needs, and I have been a faithful, generous lover in that time. But, when she does take me in her arms, it is blissful and perfect and worth any amount of time. I moan as her hand shifts in slumber…and prepare for a long, uncomfortable night._

 _Much, much later I will realize that Marjolaine's carefully considered actions on that night not only served to wrap more chains around my heart…her inciting of my lusts served to mute the already dim voice of my conscience. After this night, she owned me fully, body and soul. I loved her more than I feared her…_

… _and she terrified me._

* * *

"If anyone should remain behind, it's you!" Alistair bellowed and I flinched, so close to the memory of abuse that, at the time, I believed to be love. "And I don't care what you say; you look like a pack of wild dogs chewed you up and spit you out!"

"Be that as it may," Salem's voice did not rise to match Alistair's; it remained even, calm, and composed. "Teagan has gone with Isolde, and we have no way of knowing what is in that castle. We cannot risk both wardens. If night falls again, the people here need a soldier capable of leading. We have no choice but to split our forces. Morrigan, Leliana, and Burrow will go with me through the windmill path. Sten desires to remain with the city's fighters, and Wynne's skills as a healer are required here. I do not like this plan any more than you do, but we have no choice."

I watched realization dawn in Alistair's eyes. He knew that pressing the argument with Salem would avail nothing. After a moment, he turned and began walking back to the Chantry. Salem heaved a sigh, turned, and looked toward the castle. Her body held no apprehension, no fear, simply…resolve. The sight was unremarkable, but it held me captive with a stark sort of beauty.

The wind whipped Salem's hair about her face, and she turned away from the rising walls of Redcliffe Castle. The sun cast shadows across her face, highlighting the severity of her features, the sharp, straight line of her nose, the blades of her high cheekbones, the defined stubbornness of her jaw. I could see the burdens resting on her broad shoulders; the fatigue in her eyes could not conceal the gleam of her determination. Her gaze rested on me and she smiled and…something changed.

 _To this point, I have considered her a striking woman, but her eyes…that smile…_ a rush of heat bloomed across my cheeks. _After all this time, all of this pain,_ my thoughts betrayed me in the silence of my heart, _there is still one truth about me. I still have not learned to silence, or conceal, my emotions. She is…_

… _beautiful._


	20. Preserving Redemption

**Redcliffe Dungeon**

 **Salem**

The very air smelled of death. It disturbed me that, in such a short time, I had learned the scent and found myself not at all repelled by it. Instead, it seemed as a normalcy to me, an regularity to which I was accustomed. That…that in itself disgusted me. This was not something to which any one, man, woman, child, no matter their race, should consider to be right and proper. Not something that should exist in the world.

 _It is your duty in this world, pup, when there is something that is amiss, something that is not right, that harms another or brings a sense of wrongness where it ought not be, to mend it. The title before our name_ _ **must**_ _mean something, or the faith of the people will be misplaced, and there is no worse suffering than the suffering of those devoid of hope. Use your position, my daughter. Use it to instill hope where there is none. There will be one million screaming voices, ideals of great and little consequence that your heart might scream to hold onto, but use this as your compass, my child—if none of these ideals lead to hope's resurgence and realization, abandon them, for they are nothing._

My father's words echoed in my hearing as my footfalls squelched in the mud. The mud and filth of the bodies strewn through the underground. The fallen guardsman, their bodies left unburied. Whatever was imprisoning the arlessa and whomever remained alive cared nothing for their lives, or health.

"Please!" I heard screaming. "Please, I can hear you! Please, help me! Let me out!"

I lifted my torch higher and walked towards the sound of the voice, which came from the cell doors. A pair of grimy hands slammed onto the bars and, beside me, Leliana flinched. Even in the rosy hue of the torchlight, she looked pale. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed, not in the set of concentration that I knew from time spent in battle.

" _Please_." Wild, desperate eyes appeared, set in a face that was haggard and worn. "You must get me out of here. The demon…the demon will destroy us all!"

"What demon?" I asked. "Those others here did not fare so well." I moved the torch, exposing the rotting corpses of the Redcliffe guard. "Why did were you left untouched?"

"Because I am…because the boy…" His words were frenzied and he clung to the bars like a man possessed.

"'Twould behoove you to make more sense." Morrigan sneered. "For as we have heard it told, 'tis you who are the cause of the massacre and attacks."

"Look, I'm a mage of the Circle." The man pressed. "Was…a mage…regardless." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am called Jowan, milady, and I beg you, hear my story. What the arlessa told you might have been partly true, but I did _nothing_ save for poison the arl! I did nothing else, I swear it!"

"Kill the abomination, and the demon, too, shall die." Morrigan looked to me. "His confession is complete. Should your eager swords not be carrying out justice?"

"Much as I am loathe to show mercy, there might be more than mad ramblings here." I murmured. "Well, ser? Is there a rest of your story? Or would you have me follow through with the arlessa's wish, and strike you down?"

"I do not care _what_ you do to me." Jowan said, his words completely honest, piquing my interest. "But the child…the young lord, he is in grave danger, milady. He _must_ be saved. I am an escapee from the Circle, I admit that freely. I also admit that I am guilty of blood magic. See, I honestly do not _care_ what you do to me. The arlessa hired me, you see. The young lord, her son…he has magic."

"Is that so?" I inquired. "Go on."

"Go on?" Morrigan taunted. "Whatever for?"

"Because the man just handed me one reason to imprison him and two to kill him outright." I replied, noticing that Leliana's eyes widened. "Any man so desperate to be heard that he will say such things is a man that deserves, at the very least, to be heard. Jowan, continue."

"She only wanted me to teach him to control his magic. The arl is old, and the Lady Isolde could not bear for the young lord to be taken by the Circle. I needed more than I was being paid to make my escape from Ferelden…then the letter came. It came with a packet of herbs and the instructions. I was simply to slip them into the lord's drink, leave the city, and I would find payment awaiting me in the body of an old oak tree on the road. I still have the wax, my lady, as proof."

He reached into the pocket of his robs and withdrew a circle of crimson wax, holding it out through the bars. I took it and examined it in the firelight, confirming what I knew already to be true.

"This is Loghain's seal." I spat the man's name. "The bastard is so arrogant he sends his assassination orders with his own bloody coat of arms. Despicable."

"I don't know what I did wrong." Jowan whispered. "But the arl did not perish. He lingers still, on the edge of death. The young lord, Connor…he could not bear to see his father in such a state and, as an untested mage…I fear that a demon has possessed him. I will do whatever you ask and face whatever punishment you deem fit if you will simply let me _help_ the innocent child! This is _my_ fault."

I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to rend the man limb from limb, but our senior mage had remained to help the wounded, and I did not know how far I trusted Morrigan as it came to dealing with demons. She had said nothing to me in the Circle, when I let a desire demon and her enthralled templar leave without violence. To break that spell would have ended that man's hope, and his life. Better a false world than a needless death. But who was I to say that such a decision was right? Who was I in any of this? I did not know, but it continually seemed to fall to me. I did what I thought to be right. I could do nothing else.

"What would you have me do?" I turned to the others, asking for advice in my void of knowledge.

"Kill him." Morrigan seethed. "A pathetic fool who turns to blood magic when power is plenty for the taking is one who cannot be trusted with his own life, let alone another's."

"I disagree." Leliana spoke, and her voice trembled. Her entire body shivered. "If the man seeks to help, we should allow it, under a watchful eye. The chance for…the chance for redemption should never be denied."

 _She says that in such a way that…that I believe her to be seeking her own redemption? But from what? The skills she has that show a life most definitely lived before the Chantry? Perhaps. It is not yet my right to ask, and might never be. But I want to, because she is running from something. That is easily seen. But one cannot run forever. Eventually the energy runs out, and if there is no safe place, one will perish from lack of faith. Lack of hope. What I have seen in her is lovely, and I will be the safe place for her, if she will allow it._

"Very well then." I said. "We are in agreement."

I nodded to Leliana and knelt down by one of the dead guards, removing the ring of keys from his belt. I unlocked the cell and the man stumbled out. I handed him my canteen and he drained it, wiping his mouth and looking to me in fear as an odd rattling shook the stone.

"The demon knows I'm free." He whispered. "The dead will soon be upon us."

"Of course." I quipped, drawing my swords, listening to Burrow's war howl. "One wrong move, Jowan, and I will plant these in your heart."

He swallowed, hard. "I understand."

The corpses on the floor began to stir and I planted my torch in a nearby sconce, before desecrating the dead by slicing them apart before they could rise. The pieces and parts squelched beneath my swords and I despised all that I had become. But I could not go back. I could not remove the taint from my blood. There was no way but forward, through blood and death and hellfire…and choices no mortal should ever have to make.


	21. Sacrifice or Suicide?

**Leliana**

"Do not kill him!" Salem screamed the order, legible even amid the clanking of armor and the metallic shriek of drawn weapons. "This is the demon at work!"

I dropped my bow and pulled my daggers, better suited to fighting in close quarters. My entire body ached; Redcliffe held nothing but battle after battle. We'd fought our way up, through the dungeons, into the courtyard, only to enter the main hall and discover Bann Teagan prancing about like a mindless fool. The arlessa was a broken woman, helpless as her husband lay dying and her child…her poor child. When Jowan accused him, the boy's features changed, his voice altered to a chilling mezzo, and then the dead guards reanimated and Teagan drew his sword.

I ripped into the nearest corpse, shredding through the leather of his hauberk, through the decaying flesh, into the heart that the demon bore the power to reanimate. The stench was appalling and immediately reminded me of Val Royeaux. I froze as the body fell with a sickening squelch, watching the walls move closer. My breath solidified in my lungs, my joints locked in place; the din of battle became the screaming of the tortured before smearing to a single, defining cacophony of indeterminable torment.

A hulking soldier moved towards me, his sword aimed in a high arc. His helmet obscured his features, but I could sense the purposeless destruction driving him and his weapon. I parted my lips, attempting to cry for help. I could not move, not even to roll away. I could not breathe as memories flashed behind my eyes in nauseating recollection. Every scar staining my body lit with fire, a very real pain that sent me to my knees as the soldier's blade came down.

I readied myself to face the pain, the blood, the sharp cold of metal through flesh. Instead, I heard the sharp, biting tang of steel against steel and I lifted my eyes to see Salem standing before me, her twin blades held aloft, blocking the soldier's broadsword. She ripped her blades outward, throwing his sword backwards and offsetting his balance. In a movement as poetic and deadly as an eagle's wingbeat, she crossed her arms again, slicing the enemy's head from its body. Blackened, congealed blood spurted from the stump of his neck and he crumpled.

"Salem, behind you!" Morrigan shouted and the warden turned.

I heard the decisive twang of a crossbow string and saw Salem step to the side, not fast enough. The quarrel ripped along the outside of her right thigh, leaving a bloody weal in its wake. Her bitten back scream and the sight of her bleeding _again_ burned through my paralysis. I got to my feet and faced the enemy, seeing the curvature of the crossbow he carried attached to his wrist. His blade flashed out and I stepped into the swing, evading the strike. I flipped my dagger in my hand and slammed the pommel into his temple, breaking flesh. Blood sheeted down his face, his sword clattered to the ground and I made to slash his throat when a strong hand wrapped around my wrist.

"It's Teagan." Salem's voice, harsh with exertion, whispered. "Leave him be."

Her words rang in the new quiet and I gazed around, seeing nothing but fallen corpses and my companions, splattered with gore but otherwise unharmed. Save for Salem. Save always for Salem.

 _She is bleeding for you again, pretty thing._ Marjolaine's voice rang in my thoughts, taunting me. _How long will it be before she remembers that her blood is far more precious and carries a much higher price? How long will it be before she tires of saving your pathetic self and lets your own weakness destroy you, glad to be rid of the burden?_

Salem moved past me and grasped Teagan's unconscious body, hauling him away from the bodies strewn on the floor. She dragged him to the fireplace beside Isolde, who knelt down and began tending to the wound I inflicted.

"It seems the demon has calmed." Jowan mused. "But who knows how long this will last. We must act swiftly in order to destroy the demon."

"And what is it you suggest?" Morrigan asked, her tones acid and harsh.

"The simplest way is to…to kill the boy." Jowan admitted.

" _No!_ " Isolde shrieked, her voice echoing across the stones, filled with a wretched pain. " _No, you_ _ **monster!**_ _You_ brought this evil upon us, but I will _not_ let you take my child!"

"But…"

"No one will touch a hair on his head, Lady Isolde." Salem promised, her voice tempered, even. "I know next to nothing of magic, but even I know that there has to be another way."

The room fell silent once again, the situation a dire, living thing pressing in against us. I noticed that Salem leaned against the mantle above the fireplace, easing the weight on her wounded leg. I wondered what injury the bolt had done to her, but refrained from saying anything. Now was not the time for such worries, and perhaps my mind was not the place for them.

 _This is the second injury she has taken for you in less than the span of a day. You are going to get her killed, Leliana. If you cannot stay out of your own mind, you are going to get them_ _ **all**_ _killed._

"If a mage were to go into the Fade," Jowan spoke up, "then…then it would be possible, in theory, to defeat the demon that has a hold on young Connor there. It would not harm _him_ physically, but it would require…it would require a great deal of blood."

"What the fool is trying to say," Morrigan chimed, "is that the power required to send a mage into the Fade to confront this demon would cost a human life."

"Also no." Salem shook her head, defiant. "Find another way."

"Well, we could send to the Circle for a full group of mages and a cart full of lyrium." Jowan sneered, his tone condemning the very idea. "But in that time the city might be wiped out. The demon will not rest forever and when it wakes, the undead will come again, and are you willing to bear the stain of _that_ on your conscience to preserve a few lives!?"

"When you are _not_ a blood mage turned assassin, _then_ we can speak about the stains on one's conscience." Salem hissed, her blue eyes sparking in the light of the fire, a deep fury that should have unsettled me as anger always did…but it was something that went beyond mere anger. Something deeper, something driven, something…purposeful. "Morrigan, keep watch on Jowan. If he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, I trust your discretion as to his punishment. Leliana, speak to Ser Perth, and find a way to get a message to the Circle. If they refuse, remind them of the debt they owe us. Isolde, care for Teagan, and get Wynne to find a way to keep him sedated. If the demon has any control over his mind, it is too dangerous to allow him to wake. Direct anything you may need from us to Alistair, and he will help you."

"What will you do?" I asked, at last breaking my silence.

"Jowan is right about one thing." Salem glared at the mage. "We do not know what the demon will do when it returns. I am going to find Connor and remain with him until we receive help from the Circle. If the demon returns, I will distract it so that the city and the people need not suffer."

"That is _suicide_!" Jowan scoffed. "You'll never survive! That _boy_ has the power of a demon full, and you are no mage!"

"That matters little." Salem's voice darkened with words she did not say.

"It…it _does!_ " Jowan argued. "If anyone should stand in that place, let it be me! I…I owe it to the boy."

 _Yes, please, Salem, listen to reason. Let the man seek his redemption in this way. And if…if he is killed, we have lost nothing. This is the strategy that makes the most sense._

"You do owe the boy, and his family." Salem nodded. "So spend your time helping where you are able. My mind is made up on this matter, and you will not change it."

"Why?" I demanded to know, wondering why she would throw herself into a fight that she could not _possibly_ win. "Because you are determined to suffer every blow; because you are determined to break yourself before we even hear a word of the archdemon? Are you so determined to suffer?"

"No." Salem's eyes filled with grief as she looked at me, a profound sorrow, horrific in its endlessness and ferocity. "Because, if I am right, the demon plaguing this boy is one of desire."

"And there is nothing you desire?" Morrigan asked.

Salem pinched the bridge of her nose. "There is much I desire." She spoke, low. "But I also know that, everything I desire, I cannot have. All that I want is gone, and nothing can restore it. That is why I am going. Do as I have asked you, please."

Salem turned her back, preparing to find Connor and meet an abomination with nothing and no one at her side. Alone.

"It will take a day by boat, if the mages come!" Jowan shouted. "You cannot possibly hold out for that long. You will not win this!"

Salem looked back, but her eyes did not meet Jowan. Instead, she looked to me, offering that small half smile that I'd come to know quite well.

"I know." She murmured. "But I will not lose."

The door slammed behind her and I stood there, in shock.

 _What…what does that even mean?_


	22. Fathers Should Not Die

**Redcliffe Castle**

 **Salem**

My own heartbeat echoed in my hearing as I strode down the hallway. The stench of death clung to me like a second skin, like a pervasive aura. It sickened me...it sickened me that it existed, and that I knew this would not be the last time. If the Circle of Magi and the city of Redcliffe were any indication, the road to the ending of the archdemon would be paved with death and hell.

 _I am going to face a child whose teacher not only failed to teach him to protect himself, but caused the boy to be susceptible to the demon when his father was nearly killed. What no one knows, what no one might believe, is that the demon within this child might be the sole reason that Eamon Guerrin still draws breath. If that is the case...then defeating the demon might destroy the arl. Maker, give me strength._

I stood in the hallway, staring at the closed doors, wondering where Connor might have run to. It only made sense that he would flee from those assailing him...and go to the side of the one the demon emerged to protect. I continued following the hall to the room at the end, where Isolde said Eamon lay ill. There were bodies littering the floor here, as well, guards who had probably only attempted to enter this room to ask questions, killed by the impetuousness and fear of a child wielding the power of a demon.

 _Jowan was right about one thing,_ I mused, _I am not strong enough to face a demon. Neither, however, are the people of Redcliffe strong enough to face another assault. If I can give the city peace for a night, no matter the cost, I will let them sleep safely. I will give the wounded time to heal. And I will pray...I will pray with all that is within me that the Circle will answer my call for help and save father, mother, child, and city._

I opened the door to Eamon's room. It smelled of herbs and tinctures, stringent antiseptics, and the cloying stench of decay. The windows were nailed shut, keeping any and all light from the room, barring fresh air from entering. A fire burned in the hearth, illuminating the dust floating through the air. This was not a sickroom...it was a deathbed, and the child standing before his father knew such a thing all too well.

I ignored Connor and pulled a knife from my belt, quiet, so as not to alert the boy and the demon to a weapon being drawn. I walked to the window and pried up the nails, throwing the boards away and allowing light and air into the room.

"What are you doing!?" Connor roared, his voice lacking the undertones it possessed when he ordered Tegan to attack us.

"Your father is unwell." I replied, keeping my tone even and non-threatening. "Darkness and stale air will not help his recovery, only hinder it. Who ordered this done?"

Connor shook his head. "I do not know." He said, soft. "Who are you? Why are you in here?"

"My name is Salem Cousland." I stacked the fallen boards beneath the window and went to the next, beginning to pry those up as well. "Our fathers were friends."

Connor nodded, gazing down at his father's haggard visage, his own countenance falling. "I met Teyrn Cousland when I was a boy." He murmured. "He was a nice man...he let me join his men in the training yard and hold his sword. I had such a nice time...until mother got scared and said I would hurt myself."

I paused in my work, my throat tightening, heat scalding me behind my eyes. His words could be nothing less than truth...it was exactly what my father would have done. He allowed Fergus to join the men in training when my brother was seven. And, when I expressed interest, he ignored all social mores and permitted it...much to my mother's chagrin.

"How is he?" Connor looked up, his wide, innocent eyes meeting mine, and I forced myself to remember that, with any misstep, the demon might return. "Your father, I mean."

I rested my head against the rough boards blocking the window. "He...he died, Connor." I breathed the words, feeling the same horror retake my heart that gripped it when Howe's men burst into the room and Duncan was forced to drag me away, screaming.

I ripped the last board away and dropped it to the ground. Connor turned away from Eamon's bedside, his eyes lifting to mine, flaring with an unnatural light.

"Fathers should not die." His words emerged on a snarl, his lip curling upward in disgust. "They should not fall asleep and never wake, they should not leave their children to weep and to question, they should not fall prey to the scheming of evil men!"

I drew myself up and attempted to quell my fear. I was no longer speaking to Eamon's son.

"No, they should not." I agreed.

"What are you doing here, in this room!?" Connor snapped, the low, menacing notes of the demon echoing through the room. "This is a protected space, and you are not welcome here!"

"I am here to help you and your father, Connor." I spoke to the boy, hoping that my words might reach him behind the facade of the demon's resurgence. "I am here to help protect him."

"You reek of death and blood!" He shouted. "You are a herald of death and a harbinger of destruction! You are here to destroy me!"

Connor's arm whipped out and a wave of energy slammed me against the stone of the wall, driving the breath from my lungs. I crumpled to the floor, gasping, fighting to pull air into my lungs. Connor walked closer and stood over me, the demon's energy rippling around him, manifesting itself in response to the threat it felt from me.

"Draw your weapons, human worm." The demon ordered. "Test your power against my own and see my words proven true."

"I have...no desire...to harm you." I managed to rasp, disentangling myself from the sheathes of my swords and throwing them to the side. My knife followed, proof of my intentions.

"That's a lie!" The demon roared, and another burst of energy flew from Connor's fingertips, slamming into my abdomen.

I retched and doubled over, gasping. I gritted my teeth against the pain, forcing myself to rise above it, remembering my promise. I would not lose. I had no hope of winning, but I could not lose to this demon. The people of Redcliffe could not afford another night such as the last one.

"I...do not...want to...hurt you." I gasped.

"Liar!"

Another blast of energy lashed against my exposed back. I heard something crack and pain splintered down my ribs. I bit back a scream and planted my hands against the floor, struggling to keep myself up. I could not lose consciousness. I could not succumb. I could not let this demon free again, but I had taken too many injuries in too short a time. Deflecting the physical assault was paramount.

"Test...me." I growled. "See if...I am...lying."

"You are a weakling and a coward." The demon taunted. "I shall derive great pleasure from the breaking of you."

I fought back the pain, managing to sit up and look into the demon's eyes. Connor's lips spread into a sickening, demented smile. The smile worn by the demons of desire such as those I met in the Circle tower. The boy's eyes crackled with arcane power and I could smell the grasses of Highever as my vision wavered. I prepared my heart to be broken and my soul to be torn asunder.

I prepared to re-enter hell.


End file.
